I Give You A Story A Day
by Shan Jeniah
Summary: I'm participating in Story A Day May, an annual writing challenge. After a grueling April of noveling, and in the aftermath of my husband's death in January, I feel a need for some play in the Trip and T'Pol sandbox. These stories will vary according to the prompts and my whims. Some may extend existing stories; some will be one-offs. All PG-13 or milder.
1. I Grieve With You

**Author's Note:**

 **Spoiler Alerts for "Demons" and "Terra Prime"!**

This story takes place after T'Pol's fist pon farr as Trip's wife, which a little less than a year after the death of their cloned daughter Elizabeth. I have headcanon that T'Pol miscarried twin sons conceived in the aftermath of Elizabeth's death.

It's possible that my own recent experiences, such as my husband's death early this year, have affected this angsty story.

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story of a character involved in an accident.

The first POV is to be a character who loves the MC and knows their flaws, and that scene happens at home, before the accident.

The second is a character who knows the MC slightly, but is not a friend. It happens during or after the accident.

The third is a character who is meeting the MC for the first time in the aftermath of the accident. 

As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.

Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.

* * *

"How are my girls this morning?" I rolled over in bed and laid my hand against my wife's swollen belly.

"I'm not 'a girl', and our child doesn't belong to you." Hazel eyes opened sleepily; she could parse words before she was even awake. She was trying to sound severe, but I was getting better and better at reading her emotions in our bond. She was feeling sassy this morning, and was likely to Vulcan me half to death all day long if I didn't do something to stop her.

"Oh, yeah? If she's not my baby, then who the hell snuck in when I wasn't looking?"

"You are her father, Trip. All the genetic tests prove it conclusively. However, an infant is not a belonging. One cannot own people." She was intentionally taking me literally, and I paid her back with a long slow kiss that got her mind all hot and bothered, because Vulcans don't kiss each other.

"Tell that to the Orions."

"I have." Well, of course she had.

"You weren't very convincing, apparently."

Our baby girl delivered a kick that said for sure she'd inherited some of her mama's strength. T'Pol made a tiny groan of discomfort, but I grinned – I've always liked my women feisty, and little Grace clearly wasn't going to be anybody's pushover.

"You enjoy the pain she causes me," T'Pol accused. Before I met her, I never guessed a Vulcan could be petulant – but then, she was a very unusual Vulcan. Just as well, since the garden variety wouldn't have made a good wife for an "impetuous carnivore" like me.

I offered her my paired fingers. "No, pepperpot. I wish it wasn't uncomfortable for you – but I'm also thrilled she's healthy in there." We shared the wave of sorrow for our firstborn daughter and the twin boys who had died long before they could survive out of the womb. "I wish you'd just stay here and work on growing her."

But I knew she wouldn't.

* * *

I had Corporal Cole hold Commander Tucker at phase pistol point – that seemed the only way to contain him – and forced the turbolift doors open. It was pitch dark inside – but from somewhere below, there was an inhuman scream that went on and on.

Was she even stopping long enough to take a breath? Weren't Vulcans supposed to be logical? And not have emotions? I got my flashlight aimed down into the car – and was greeted with a version of hell that came complete with green blood seeming to be everywhere, and T'Pol, still screaming that endless, raw scream, holding both hands around the twisted spar of metal that had impaled her abdomen.

She was bloodlessly pale, and eyes glinted as she stared – not at me, or the metal she held, but at some point on the wall. She didn't blink, or even move except for the screaming.

At the best of times, Vulcans made me nervous. It always felt like they were judging me, and I was lacking in any redeeming qualities. That's how I'd felt the half dozen times or so I'd seen T'Pol since I came aboard to command the ship's MACO attachment.

But now, she gave me the heebie-jeebies.

A flurry of motion behind me, and I was pushed aside by Commander Tucker – the human one. He grabbed my flashlight before I could respond, with a strength that had to be adrenaline. "Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn," he was chanting – or at least that's what I thought it was. It was almost impossible to hear over Commander Tucker – the Vulcan one's - screaming.

I made a grab for him – standard procedure said we needed to wait for the ship's doctor – but he slipped past into the tiny emergency hatch, and the scream cut off like it had never happened, like I'd imagined it. "Trip. I can't feel her mind. Our baby is dead."

There was no emotion in her voice at all.

* * *

"T'Pol, I must deliver you of the child's body." I spoke carefully, and in our native tongue. The circumstantial evidence presented in the report suggested a powerful limbic engagement. Such responses, once triggered, were highly probable to recur.

However, T'Pol did nothing to acknowledge my presence. Nor did she cease her intimate contact with the human male who lay with her on the narrow Starfleet biobed. The readings presented by this arrangement were neither useful nor coherent.

"Our baby's name is Grace. She isn't 'the child's body.' She's a person, damn you!" T'Pol's mate was staring at me in a way no Vulcan would.

"I intended no offense- " Most unusual, that this human understood Vulcan.

"Then don't make our baby a non-person." The human spoke too loudly.

T'Pol's arms tightened around the man in secondary limbic response. He made a pained sound. An alarm sounded on the bed's diagnostic display, indicating a stress point on three ribs on either side of his torso.

"You will harm him if you do not restrain yourself, T'Pol."

"He is mine! You will take nothing from me, this day!" Her eyes were open, but unfocused, the pupils fixed. There was no medical reason for her blindness. The Denobulan doctor had called it an "hysterical response."

"I'll – be fine."

"Six of your ribs are in danger of fracturing along fault lines from a previous injury."

"That injury was from pon farr – when we made this beautiful little girl. I survived her Burning. If you need to break them again, pepperpot, go ahead."

T'Pol seemed confused – perhaps something which resulted from mating an evolutionarily inferior species which could offer no bond. "Trip – I can't feel Grace."

"I know, pepperpot." The human stroked her face, and she allowed it. Before witnesses.

"Our daughter is dead."

"I know."

T'Pol made a strange sound, and her eyes produced a surplus of tears, just as her human mate's did. A Vulcan ritual phrase, made real between them. "I grieve with you."


	2. Useless

**Author's Note:**

 **Spoiler Alerts for "Broken Bow"!**

This story takes place after T'Pol reports for duty on _Enterprise_. We never really see the preparations she made for her first posting on a human ship - but what if things didn't go smoothly? I mean, first days on the job are often difficult.

So here is T'Pol's first day on the job - with a twist.

As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.

Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.

* * *

T'Pol examined the science displays from the vague discomfort of her seated position. Perhaps it was illogical to feel gratitude that the humans on the Bridge were completely occupied with their entropic combination of irrelevant conversation, mostly centered on admiration for the ship and disbelief that they had been called into service twenty-one days before _Enterprise's_ scheduled first mission. Combined with the seemingly pointless comings and goings, no one was paying attention to her.

No one knew, perhaps, that these consoles were useless to her.

Had Soval known of this, when he assigned her to this hurried and ill-considered mission to return a wounded Klingon to his homeworld? Was it a test of her commitment and ability to adapt to difficult circumstances?

Perhaps he hadn't. The materials she had been given to study in preparation for this posting had been in Vulcan. Perhaps it was illogical to assume that the console would have been adapted for her use, particularly when Captain Archer was openly hostile to her. Perhaps the human captain who had threatened to "knock her on her ass" was testing her – or intentionally making it impossible for her to serve any useful purpose on his ship.

It was obvious that he didn't have any regard for the logic of her presence here, despite the fact that only the helmsman and the newly-added Denobulan physician had any deep-space experience, and neither as a line-of- command officer.

A signal sounded from the panel behind her. Regardless of whether the oversight was intentional or accidental, she could not read the panels, and she would be required to do so in sixteen hours. It would be a simple matter to take images with her hand scanner, and send them to the Consulate, where they could be translated for her use.

However, Jonathan Archer had expressly forbidden her to speak on what was said in the Ready Room and this Bridge. While hadn't precisely barred her from procuring and sharing images, she suspected he would be unreasonably suspicious and angered by any such action on her part. Humans seemed to have a tendency to draw conclusions based on their own biases and assumptions, without comprehension that they were doing so.

"Hoshi!" The helmsman, Mr. Mayweather, greeted the equally young communications officer at considerable volume as he met her near the lift – directly beside the science station.

"Travis!" Ensign Sato embraced the helmsman. Humans apparently desired a great deal of physical contact. She remembered Commander Tucker extending his hand to her. When she had dealt with the issue of the unusable work station, she would consider what he meant by what, to her, was an intensely intimate gesture only to be shared between bonded mates, and only in the privacy of their own chambers.

The signal sounded again, followed by another, as an indicator lit beside her right hand. If she could learn the sounds and their meanings, perhaps she could move forward from there.

" **Dif-tor heh smusma** " the young linguist said in flawless Vulcan, before returning to English. "If there's anything you need, I'm happy to help if I can.

T'Pol had studied the service records of each crew member as part of her preparation. Hoshi Sato had an impressive array of accomplishments for a human of her age. Perhaps asking for her assistance would be acceptable –

However, T'Pol merely returned the greeting. Perhaps it was illogical, but she hesitated to admit her inability to read their dominant language. If Captain Archer didn't know she was incapable, giving him access to that information might be reason enough to remove her from _Enterprise_.

These humans were inexperienced with other species, and had need of an escort to counsel them.

But that was not her primary reason for wishing to remain with this ship. It was the engineer who had offered her his hand and informal appellation who fascinated her. Beyond the importance of her duty here, she would not willingly surrender the opportunity to serve on the same ship as Charles Tucker the Third for eight days.

She must ensure she was able to do so.

The signal chimed for a third time. Experimentally, T'Pol touched a flashing point on the station – and the indicator silenced. A minor success, but it encouraged a new idea.

Soval had secured a generous housing allotment, with the directive that she was intended to remain in it when not on duty. It would be possible to code her personal access point to the computer network in Vulcan – and then she could utilize her Vulcan hand scanner to adapt this diagnostic display in a manner that would not be discernable to anyone else who served at this station.

It would be a difficult task to accomplish in the available time, but if she focused on the essential matters first, perhaps she could render the station nominally functional without revealing her inability. Ensign Sato had worked extensively on a translation device; perhaps those algorithms would be useful for her, with adaptations.

However, she would need to leave the Bridge to accomplish her objectives, and she had been given no protocol for doing so.

She rose, and went back to the captain's Ready Room, signaling at the door. It opened at once.

"I didn't expect to see you back here so soon." His intonation and posture suggested he wasn't pleased by her presence. At least his canine appeared to be asleep.

"I request permission to go to my quarters, sir. I have matters I must tend to there."

She expected questions, or argument. But Jonathan Archer only said, "Fine. Take all the time you need, as long as you are in the Captain's Mess at 1900 hours for dinner with me and Trip, and ready in time for the launch ceremony."

T'Pol had not expected to attend formalities, or dine with the humans. But if Commander Tucker would be there –

She must work with alacrity. She had no intention of being late for dinner, or unable to perform her duties.


	3. She Tastes of Forever

**Author's Note:**

 **Spoiler Alerts for "Harbinger"!**

This story takes place while _Enterprise i_ s facing a spatial anomaly, in T'Pool's quarters, during a neuropressure session. We don't ever find out what either Trip or T'Pol is thinking, in the moment.

Here's a possibility, for your consideration. It stays PG-13, so if you're hoping for the down-and-dirty, this isn't the story for you.

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a drabble - a hundred-word story.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Her robe swirls past golden skin and candlelight-kissed curves. Air heavy with sandalwood, citrus, and minerals.

I can't not look. She's a masterpiece.

She watches me, utterly still, chin high, eyes challenging. This isn't an offer. It's a claiming. If I partake, I'm hers. She doesn't have to say a word. She doesn't speak. But that doesn't make it any less true.

I hesitate. I've waited so long. But – I don't know what it means, to be hers. She's Vulcan. Her ways aren't mine.

She leans in. Kisses me again. Her breath is hot. She tastes of forever.

I'm hers.


	4. To Touch a Flame

**Author's Note:**

 **Tangential Spoiler Alerts for "Impulse"!**

This bit of T'Pol's backstory takes place during her time on the _Seleya_ , as she is considering whether to accept a diplomatic posting at the Vulcan Consulate on Earth. We meet Solen, whom T'Pol said she knew in the episode "Impulse".

A bit of #headcanon, here: As a baby, while sitting on the lap of her meditating mother, T'Pol ignored the warnings given to every Vulcan infant, and touched the flame of the meditation candle. This earned her a reputation as being more daring than the average Vulcan.

I've made Solen a bit unusual, as well, and played with the nature of his and T'Pol's connection.

Today's Story A Day prompt was to write a 40-minute story: 10 minutes to set up and write a beginning; 20 minutes to add complications in the middle, and 10 minutes to review and wrap things up.

I confess, I went about 20 seconds past my timer.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

The door slipped open at her signal, and Solen saluted with one hand and beckoned her in with the other. "Greetings, young T'Pol, and well-met."

"To you, as well, Solen." She settled upon the floor cushion; he had made this space for her when she first began to visit him here. A candle was already lit, as though perhaps he had expected her.

Solen went to his easel, and lifted a new canvas to it. He said nothing, nor did he take up a brush.

"I've been offered a position at the Vulcan Consulate." She paused for a deep breath. "On Terra."

"Will you accept?"

"I do not know. Meditation yielded no conclusive answers."

Now Solen chose a brush, but didn't dip it in paint. "Perhaps you didn't ask the most useful questions."

"I believe I considered the matter from all logical angles." In the presence of others, the note of defensiveness that escaped her control would have been a breach of etiquette; perhaps she felt so at ease in Solen's company precisely because it was not, with him.

A time of quiet. Solen put down his brush, and picked up a stylus. He began sketching, then said, "Do you wish to share your considerations, young T'Pol?"

"To what end? I've already considered them at length."

"You have come to me for a reason. You never come, else. Perhaps that reason was to speak with another, and gain a perspective you might not consider in solitude."

Solen's logic seemed ever to carry the shadings of his art. There was truth in his words. She had not known that was why she came here until he spoke, but it was nonetheless true. He continued sketching, and did not look at her. T'Pol was perhaps illogically grateful for that measure of privacy.

"I considered that the opportunity would expand my experience to include diplomatic matters. Such experience would doubtless prove useful in future deep-space postings. Ambassador Soval is well-regarded; I would learn much in even a minor position on his staff. However, I accepted a two-year assignment on _Seleya_ , and am expected to formalize my marriage to Koss at the end of it. There's also much yet to be learned here."

"You mention nothing of your long interest in visiting Terra. Was that desire no part of your consideration?" He set aside the stylus, and began to arrange paints on the small board he used for that purpose.

"It was irrelevant to do so."

"In what sense?"

"The Ambassador included the protocols for Terran diplomatic service in his communication. I would be confined to the Consulate grounds, and unlikely to meet any humans beyond the parameters of my duty – and then only if I advance to a position of distinction, which is uncertain."

Solen began to paint. "Where you not the infant who dared to touch the flame?"

"I was." The old scars on her fingers pulsed gently, and T'Pol watched the candle's flame dancing with her breath, knowing it was not logical to think it so.

"Have you lost that daring, young T'Pol?"

"Perhaps, Solen. Perhaps not. I don't understand your purpose in asking."

"If you are still in possession of it, it seems there would be possibilities for one willing to dare judicious violations of those protocols. It is certain that we understand far too little of the humans. There would no doubt be great benefit for all of Vulcan if we had more knowledge of them as they are when they do not know there is a Vulcan present."

T'Pol attempted to control her increased rates of respiration and circulation, but failed. The flame's dancing was the proof of her agitation at this idea. "You' re suggesting that I accept the position with the intent to commit subterfuge?"

"Did you not do something very like this when you were employed with the Ministry of Security?" His hand moved swiftly, as though he knew the subject well.

"That was my duty."

"Perhaps, young T'Pol, you have a duty to yourself. Come, this painting is yours."

She rose and went to the easel – and there was an image of her, fingers stretched to touch a flame.

And at its heart, the planet known as Earth.


	5. A Sweet Apology

**Author's Note:**

 **Spoiler Alerts for "Breaking the Ice"!**

This story happens prior to the final scene in "Breaking the Ice", when we see T'Pol meditating with a piece of pecan pie on her meditation table. We never find out how she came to have it, but I have ideas.

Today's Story A Day prompt was easy for me - write a fanfiction story! =D So I added a prompt from Stream of Consciousness Saturday, which was to use "letter" as a word or a theme (I did both here).

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Trip stood at her door, holding the small food case, feeling ridiculous, wondering what the hell he was going to say to anyone who might happen by, and if she was going to answer the door, and what he was going to say if she did –

The door slid open, and she was sitting there in the same spot as before, candlelight flickering around her dimly lit room, and doing lovely things to her eyes and face.

She didn't say anything, just say there watching him in a way that made him nervous. But he didn't come here to bail out, or to appreciate the view. He swallowed. "Can I sit down?"

"Please." She seemed so calm for someone who might have just made the biggest change of her life – bigger than going to Earth, or serving on a human starship.

"I came to apologize for reading your letter." He wanted to duck his head, but didn't. Nope. He was going to face this head on, the way his mama had taught him.

"You have already done so. There is no need for repetition." But she didn't tell him to get up and get out. Trip had the feeling he had her attention, and, even if she'd never admit it, that maybe she was happy for the company.

"But that's the thing, T'Pol. I didn't really apologize. I mean – sure, I said the words I'm sorry, and I gave you the chance to speak your piece about what I did. But that doesn't constitute a real apology, and I couldn't exactly do that up there on the Bridge."

"As Vulcans don't apologize, I found your gesture…..sufficient, and admirable."

Trip supposed that was high praise, from T'Pol – but that didn't mean he was off his own hook, even if he was off hers. "Please let me do this, T'Pol. I want to be friends, but I can't with this thing hanging between us."

"You may proceed."

Well, that was probably as good as it was going to get. He took a deep breath. "T'Pol, I should never have read your letter before asking you what the communication was. I never should have told the Captain about it without checking with you. I treated you as untrustworthy, and you've done nothing at all to deserve that. Translating it was bad enough -but reading it through till the end –"'

"If you had not, I wouldn't have been able to discuss the matter of my marriage to Koss with you. I consider the violation of privacy to be an equitable trade for the benefit of your counsel."

Trip took a few seconds to wade through her syntax – he was developing a theory that she got more formal when she felt vulnerable – and then answered as he reached to his shoulder pocket for part two of his apology. "I'm glad I was able to help – but it doesn't change the fact that we treated you as though you'd done something wrong or betrayed our trust, when you've never been anything other than loyal – even when loyalty wasn't the logical way to go. You were entitled to better than that, and it doesn't matter that it helped you – "

"It matters to me, Commander. It matters a great deal." She looked down, and her voice was very soft, and a little rough. "I had never allowed myself to acknowledge my reticence in marrying Koss, or my preference for serving aboard Enterprise. I had not considered it a duty to myself to do so, and I am grateful for your…adamant defense of rights I would have surrendered."

Damn. She'd just thanked him. A Vulcan had thanked him.

No – not a Vulcan. Or not just any Vulcan, anyway. T'Pol.

He was starting to think she was in a class by herself.

"Well, you're welcome. But I still need to make restitution. I can't unread your letter, and it doesn't sound like you'd want me to. But I did violate your privacy, so – fair play is that you get to violate mine." He pulled the book out of his pocket as he spoke, and placed it on the little table between them. "This is the most embarrassing of all my journals. I was sixteen, and thought I knew way more than I did – anyway, it's yours now. Do whatever you want with it – but know that no one else has ever seen this – unless my baby sister snuck in and read it, which is certainly possible, though I can't believe she wouldn't have teased me mercilessly if she had."

"I don't understand." She was adorable when she was mystified.

"I read something private of yours without permission. I know you wouldn't do the same – but I can give you this, and it's a promise that I'll never do anything like that again. And you'll have access to information about me no one ese knows."

"I accept," she said gravely.

"Okay – now the apology's taken care of, so I've just got one more thing. I'm assuming you haven't told anyone else what was in your letter, or why that Vulcan ship was actually here?"

"I haven't." Her tone said she never would, either.

"Well, then – no one else knows what a brave thing you did – and how you just changed the entire course of your life. So that means there's no one else to celebrate the first day of your new, liberated life." He picked up the container in his lap, and put that next to the journal. "This is the last piece of pecan pie. I know you might not eat it – but it's symbolic. My wish that you'll find sweetness and richness in this decision."

He expected her to tell him he was being illogical.

"Thank you, Comm-" She stopped. "Thank you, Trip."

Trip decided to quit while he was ahead. She'd called him Trip, and that was sweet for sure. He got up. "Good night, T'Pol, and welcome to the rest of your life."


	6. Entry Number Two Hundred Fifteen

**Spoiler Alerts for the Xindi Arc, especially "Zero Hour"!**

This story takes place in the aftermath of "Zero Hour", after T'Pol, now the Acting Captain, reveals her trelllium-D addiction to Trip, which leads to a relapse - and a new closeness between them, which we see in the subsequent episodes, lelading up to "Home".

Today's Story A Day prompt was to steal from myself - write a story that uses a previous story or incident in my life, but in a new way. I chose my story, "#215, "as yet unpublished here, which was written for Story A Day in 2013, when I was still new to Enterprise fandom. I was supposed to retell the story, but, somehow, this one ended up being more of a sequel, but I like it, so I'm really not upset by that.

And yes, eventually I will get "#215" published - it's in a huge backlog of projects awaiting revision.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

"Entry Number Two Hundred Fifteen, Terran Date February 14, 2154, 2318 hours." I pause the scanner recording; Trip's breathing has changed, indicating that he's rising toward waking. However, record-keeping is a critical component of my treatment. I lower my voice by several decibels, and continue, attempting to ignore the emotions which surge as I speak. "Jonathan Archer is presumed dead, and I am now Acting Captain of _Enterprise_. The Xindi weapon has been neutralized."

* * *

"The Xindi weapon has been neutralized. And I have injected two standard doses of trellium-D."

T'Pol's voice is soft, but shaky. She's trying for her clinical tones, it sounds like, but she's missing. Emotion rolls under her words – loss, shock, hurt…and shame. She's not at ease with her addiction, no matter how matter-of-factly she's stating it, or how hard she's worked to get past it.

"Tonight, I told Trip of my addiction. I handled the revelation poorly, and he responded with predictable volatility. Perhaps I should have prepared for such a reaction; instead I injected the doses, and he was compelled to care for me in the aftermath."

* * *

"Compelled? The hell I was!" He rises, unclothed, his body moving through starlight and candlelight in a way that arouses my passions yet again. But I can control the yearning –

"I didn't mean to wake you, Trip."

"Hey, you're shaking." He collects my outermost blanket, then comes to me. "Here, let me wrap you up while you finish – whatever you're doing.. " He doesn't precisely ask. But I know that he wants to understand, and to support me.

* * *

"I'm recording the specifics of my relapse. It is integral that I keep an accurate record."

"Well, if you want accuracy, get rid of that 'compelled' bit. You don't have to compel me to be here for you. You've been there for me ever since – well, since that night I puked on your boots." We haven't talked about that night, since, because I was too ashamed of being falling-down, sloppy drunk,– and she's not the kind to bring something like that up again if I don't.

I hunker down on the deck plating beside her, and wrap the blanket around us both. I expect her to protest, but she sighs out a breath and melts into me.

"It was my honor to tend to you," she murmurs.

"And it's mine to tend you, now.'" I dare to kiss the top of her head, and she doesn't protest. I wish I knew whether it was the emotions enhanced by the trellium still in her system, or tenderness toward a lover – hell, I wonder if she even sees me as a lover. Maybe there's some very precise Vulcan term for someone you share neuropressure and 'sexual relations' with. But I'm not going to ask tonight – tonight, I'm going to hold her, and take care of her, and be anything she needs me to be, no strings attached…

Because I know damned well that, if I had handled her news better, she wouldn't have jammed that hypospray against her neck – twice.

* * *

"You aren't responsible, Trip." I shouldn't be able to feel his emotional state so clearly; he isn't a telepath, and I am incapable of melding.

However, I can feel him, clearly. I know what he will say before he speaks.

"If I'd acted like an adult when you told me –"

"Trip, it has been a very difficult day, and an extremely taxing mission. It was perhaps inevitable that there would be relapses. I am fortunate that you were here when this one occurred, and that you have been willing to…" I hesitate. We do not share common terminology regarding mating practices, and I don't wish to cause him negative emotional repercussions.

* * *

She stops talking, and I understand completely. It's almost like I can feel her, hear her thoughts. "T'Pol, you can call it whatever you want, whatever makes you comfortable. Or nothing at all, because we both know why we're under this blanket together in just our skins. But, whatever we call it, I want you to know something. I didn't share your bed tonight just because you used that hypo. I stayed here - I'm still here – because I want to be with you...for myself."

"I don't understand." I know she's not being completely honest, but I let her have this one, because what she's feeling is so complicated. I'm sure she doesn't understand _that_.

I draw her into my embrace, slowly, giving her lots of time to resist, because I've learned that this kind of touching isn't natural for Vulcans. But I can also tell she needs it, sometimes, needs the illusion that she can take shelter against me, just because I'm bigger than her, even if she's way stronger. "It's like this, pepperpot. You are easily the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen, and your body does things to me that I'd be embarrassed to admit in public. But it's a lot more than that. All these neuropressure evenings, here in your candlelight, talking and touching, while the rest of life is out there, on the other side of that door – well, I just feel closer to you than anyone else on board, and being with you, making love with you, because that's what it feels like to me when we get it right – it's beautiful, T'Pol. _You're_ beautiful, and not just on the outside."

* * *

"I find you beautiful, as well, Trip." I pause, wanting to find the words that will convey all that he is to me – although I don't understand precisely what that is, myself. "You have become a cherished part of my soul."

"Damn, woman…never would have pegged you for a poet…." His voice is thick, and his scent speaks clearly of what he desires. "Anyway, whenever you need me – whyever you need me, I'm all yours."

"I need you," I tell him, and he lifts me, carries me to the bed, and fulfills the promise in his words.


	7. We Breathe As One

**Spoiler Alerts for "Harbinger"!**

This one is a short and sweet; T'Pol's take on the moments just before she drops her robe.

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a Twitter story - in 140 characters (this one), or 280 (the next chapter).

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

His skin cool beneath my fingers. Mine hot, secretly bare beneath my robe. I will be the flame held in his sky blue eyes. We breathe as one.


	8. I Command Nothing

**Spoiler Alerts for "Azati Prime"!**

This one is twice as long and much less short and sweet; T'Pol is in command at Azati Prime, and all hell is breaking loose on Enterprise - but that's not the worst of her problems.

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a Twitter story - in 140 characters (Chapter Seven), or 280 (this one).

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Sizzling Sparks. Flames consuming all hope of escape. Trip pulls at me; is he alive? The ship shakes violently – or is that only me? The Bridge falling apart all around me is a human metaphor for all that is falling apart _within_ me. I command nothing; not logic; not even myself.


	9. Covert Experimentation

**Spoiler Alerts for "Exile" and "Azati Prime!"**

This story explores one of the most mystifying questions in _Enterprise_ : Why would T'Pol experiment with Trellium-D, which is a known psychotropic toxin for her species?

She tells Phlox, "I wanted more." But what if there was more to it than that - or at least, if she told herself there was? It might have gone something like this (which also explains an incontinuity - the crate was originally stored in Cargo Bay One, but she finds it in Cargo Bay Two.

The Story A Day prompt for today was a character in conflict.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

You stare at the crate that holds the trellium-D. It's marked clearly, for your benefit alone.

"Bio-Hazard."

If not for your presence among them, they would be able to insulate this fragile craft against the spatial anomalies that have made this already highly improbable mission more challenging.

You move nearer. If you could find a way to inure yourself to its effects –

"T'Pol! What are you doing in here?"

You spin, clamping down your compromised control. You don't need to be told he won't accept your logic. Nor do you want him to know that he affects you in ways both physical and emotional.

"I've come to gather components for a personal research project." Fortunately, you have anticipated his tendency to appear where and when you least expect him, generally complicating your life in the process. There are times when you find those complications – stimulating.

"I'll get them for you. Whatever you need. Send me a list from the Bridge or your quarters, or anywhere that's not here. You see that container over there?" He gestured expansively.

"There's nothing wrong with my eyesight, Commander Tucker." Tonight, he's an obstacle between you and your objective.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, anyway. That Bio-Hazard marking is no joke for you. That's where we're keeping the Trellium-D we collected while you were off getting poisoned on the _Seleya_. So whatever you need from this Cargo Bay, ask someone else to get it for you."

"I often work on personal experiments during times when that would be inconvenient." You realize that you remain here simply to be in his company.

"Well – do you need things from all three cargo bays at odd hours, or just this one?"

"Cargo Bay Two holds primarily Engineering components, as you know, and Cargo Bay Three non-perishable quartermaster supplies and personal storage. I don't anticipate needing to access either of those bays regularly." But, if he moves the crate, you will need to know which bay he has stored it in. "However, I do have several personal effects in Cargo Bay Three."

"Then Cargo Bay Two is our lucky winner. And now you need to get out of here, because I don't want to be taking any crazy chances with you. You're my only surefire path to a decent night's sleep." He gives you the tipped-head smile that you have seldom seen, since the Xindi attack on his homeworld. Illogical, that you have missed it.

"As you say, Commander. Be in my quarters at 2230 hours. Don't be late this time."

You leave without looking back – at the human whom you find so stimulating, or at the crate that holds perhaps the only possible route to this mission's success, and the survival of his world and his species.

If you look back, he will know at once that there is more that you haven't told him. He was disconcertingly able to discern your emotional state even prior to the commencement of our neuropressure sessions. Since –

Perhaps he doesn't know the full scope of what you share during his treatment. However, you doknow. You knew when you agreed to perform neuropressure upon him that an intimate connection would be formed, and that there was the possibility of significant harmonic attunement.

However, once you've left the bay, you go to your quarters and send him the list you prepared. There is nothing on it that indicates the purpose for which you intend to use the items, and fulfilling the list will take a minimum of twenty-two minutes.

However, he will be in your quarters in two hours and thirteen minutes. Your fingertips quiver slightly; you yearn to feel as you did, the first time you touched him after your exposure –

No. This isn't about experiencing emotions. You simply wish to desensitize yourself to the psychotropic compound; to protect this ship and its crew. That alone is your purpose – to ensure that _Enterprise_ is optimally equipped to succeed in its mission. It's not to explore emotions with Commander Charles Tucker the Third.

You have no time to delay, if you are to begin tonight. You're off-duty tomorrow; if there are consequences of your experiment, you will be able to purge the trellium in your system prior to reporting for duty – but you must act quickly.

There is one other place you can potentially find the compound without being observed. You go to the launch bay, where Shuttlepod One awaits trellium stripping. This may be why Commander Tucker had come to the cargo bay – but his pattern of past behavior indicates he will see to your requisitions first; he won't want you to have cause to make a further attempt to do so yourself.

You must move with alacrity. Your scanner indicates an area on the underside of the port exhaust vent that will not be easily noticed, and which contains a sufficient quantity of the compound. You remove the small collection device from the scanner's handle, take several samples, and attempt to suppress the slight tingle of awareness and emotional imbalance. Perhaps you are merely imagining it. You return the device to the handle, and go to your quarters, where you remove it once again, and spend a moment staring at the blue-tinted powder. Aesthetically, it is appealing.

But you have no interest in its aesthetics; they are of no relevance to your purpose. You record the mass of the sample, and ingest it. Taste and texture are also unimportant. You didn't expect it to be pleasant; you are essentially eating raw ore.

You feel the flush of the synaptic damage, but it isn't as severe as you had anticipated. Perhaps your exposure aboard _Seleya_ carried some benefit.

And Commander Tucker will soon be here.


	10. She Needs Him

**Spoiler Alerts for "Harbinger" and "Azati Prime!"**

This story explores a brief moment in time: the space between Malcolm's call to the launch bay, where T'Pol was about to go attempt to communicate with the Xindi, and the beginning of the ensuing battle. Trip knows there's something going on with her, but he's not in a position to do anything about it...

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story with a character who has a consuming desire.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Trip needs to be in Engineering, but he just stands there, watching T'Pol stride away with her typical purposeful grace. He wants to go after her more than he wants to keep breathing. No matter how normal she looks now, he knows the truth.

He could feel it in her quivering arm when he grabbed hold of her in a desperate and ill-conceived bid to keep her here with him.

She's shaking herself apart. Her structural integrity is shot, and she needs immediate attention.

She needs _him._

But she's the Acting Captain.

And the Xindi are coming.

That means he needs to get to his own station, and let her handle this.

If she can.

She's making a good show of it as she goes out the door. She doesn't look back, but he knows she wants to. He can feel it, the same way he could feel her hot trembling presence in his arms after they got the news. He could also feel the way she was fighting her impulse to arch back for him. And when she did that – it always led to mating – not lovemaking, or even just sex, but a primal act she seemed to need on some deep animal level that wasn't at all rational.

She's aroused in the face of what might just be the most dangerous mission she's ever commanded. Trip doesn't need to ask her to know that a Vulcan ought to be able to control herself better than that.

And she had, but how she resisted, he doesn't have a clue. He wishes he could believe that means she's up to this, ready to command _Enterprise_ in a battle situation. But the shaking, the way she yanked her arm from him, the way she'd yelled – _yelled!_ \- at him when she was very capable of dropping him with no fuss and perfect calm, or simply ordering him to cease and desist…

Like she hadn't wanted to control her temper – or hadn't been able to. Added to the way she'd sent him from the Ready Room earlier…

"I'm stalling." He shakes himself, and makes his way to Engineering. He's always loved his domain, but now, he's far too aware that he's way down here in the bowels of the ship – about as far from her as he can get, and still be on the same ship.

And he's still sure that she _needs_ him.

She needed him in the Ready Room, even though she pretended she didn't. Even though she sent him away. She'd been crying. He didn't need to be her lover to see that. Even someone usually as oblivious as the Cap'n would have been able to tell. But now Jonathan Archer's gone of and gotten himself killed for nothing – because there was no explosion. Which meant that damned weapon was still out there.

He's seen her cry before, but only in their most intimate moments. Never when she was on duty. Never when he couldn't hold her until whatever emotional storm was rolling through her blew itself out.

But she was crying in the Ready Room, all alone. And back there in the Launch Bay, when Malcolm had told her the Xindi were coming. He'd held her as long as she'd allowed it. If she'd only been able to stay longer, maybe she wouldn't be about to implode. That's what she's on the edge of, but he doesn't know why, or how, and what the hell to do about it from down here.

She'll do her duty by _Enterprise_ and her crew, as best she can. He's got no doubt whatsoever about that. She'll do that much even if it destroys her.

And it might. He can feel her at the edge of panic, needing, lost –

 _How_ can he feel her this way? It's stronger now, but it's not new. He felt something he thought was her that very first night, back in Fusion, and he's felt her other times, since – but he's never talked with her about it. Afraid she'd be able to stop it, and he likes having her in his mind, not that he'd admit that to her or anyone else.

It got stronger when they started doing neuropressure, and even more when they became lovers, or whatever the hell she'd call them. And, if he's honest with himself, whatever this crisis is has been building in her for a while now. But he was having so much fun getting to know the more passionate, vulnerable, intimate side of her nature to pay attention to the crumbling of her barriers. After all, if she'd had them intact, maybe there would have been no way for them to have shared what they do…

"Have I been taking advantage of her when she's at her most needy?"

"Sir?" That was Rostov, looking at him strangely and he holding out a diagnostic PADD.

"Uh, nothing. Just talking to myself."

That gets him another strange look, and Trip pulls himself together, trying to pull off her trick of squashing all the worries, fears, and that desire to be up there on the Bridge with her down into a ball to be dealt with later. But they won't go further than the pit of his stomach, and the desire won't go at all.

She _needs_ him.

He needs to be with her.

But he's stuck down here, while she does battle with the Xindi and her demons up there on the Bridge, all alone.


	11. Call Me Trip

**Spoiler Alerts for "Breaking the Ice" and earlier episodes!**

This story details a personal mission on the part of Trip Tucker...he's going to get their resident Vulcan to call him by his nickname. But that's not going to be easy...even for a charming engineer.

I've used a bit of headcanon here. Trip and T'Pol have met before, in a sense, in the Fusion nightclub, where T'Pol followed soft jazz that changed her life.

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story with a Cinderella structure: try, fail; try, fail; try, fail; try - win a chance at happiness.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Trip Tucker had a mission. It all started when Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl strode right into Jon Archer's Ready Room, ears bare for all to see, carrying a PADD and a seemingly impenetrable Vulcan arrogance.

Right then and there, he decided.

He was going to break through all that, and find the woman who had swayed and closed her eyes while listening to soft jazz on a Tuesday night in San Francisco.

He really didn't have a choice. She'd swayed and sighed her way into his fantasies that night, and she'd taken right over, erasing every other woman he'd dreamed of. And then she stayed put with admirable stubbornness, driving him wild on a regular basis, and fueling the most sinfully passionate dreams – dreams without a shred of logic to them.

Of course, she wasn't a severe, ramrod-straight, condescending, handshake refusing ….person…in his fantasies.

But he knew a few things about her no one else did, and he was going to get her to warm up to him here on _Enterprise_ , the way she had back there. Or, at least, the way he thought she had. Since they'd never even gotten to the handshake or introduction phase back then, it was maybe more in his imagination than not – but he was damned well going to find out.

He was an engineer, and he knew that the way to set a goal was with a measurable and conclusive outcome. His was getting her to call him Trip. If he could get a handshake out of her at the same time, all the better – but she was going to do more than answer his, "I'm called Trip," with a toneless and dismissive, "I'll try to remember that" as she turned her masterpiece of a backside to him.

It hadn't been smooth sailing, so far. He'd nearly killed her in a cave and got himself knocked up by a completely different alien lady by sticking his hands in her box of pebbles. But he'd also comforted her through some strange nightmare during the Andorian invasion, and that made him think he might just be getting close.

It was a little like designing a Warp 5 engine from the ground up, but he was starting to see the schematics. It wasn't likely to be one big, grand gesture, not with her. It was going to have to be a scaffolding mission, gradually getting her more comfortable with humanity in general, and him in specific. And it wasn't exactly going to be easy, because Jon kept on blaming her for her entire species, and that didn't exactly cast theirs in a good light for someone who seemed almost fanatically determined to see everything through a lens of logic and only logic.

But then he got the packet from Ian's class back on Earth, and there was a picture he really, really wanted her to have – the one Ian's best friend Gaby drew – a picture of an extra-green, huge-eared T'Pol looking ready to take on both Earth and space – apparently with hearts, stars, and an astro-cat named Lady. He loved that picture so much, he'd made a copy for his personal computer terminal, but he wasn't going to tell _her_ that.

The thing was, he couldn't just give it to her outright. He knew her well enough by now to know that she'd never accept it. But she seemed to like rising to his challenges as much as he liked rising to hers, and she took being teased about her Vulcanness as a challenge.

So he got Phlox on board. That part was easy – Phlox was so jovial, he made Trip look serious, and he'd been around enough Vulcans that he didn't seem in the least intimidated by T'Pol. All Trip had to do was be in the Mess Hall with Phlox and plant a subtle suggestion that he was sharing out the images, and Phlox took care of the preliminaries.

And, if they hadn't come upon the comet just then, he might have gotten a lot more mileage out of that picture. He'd gotten her with the realistic portrayal of _Enterprise_ , goaded her a bit with the tentacled first contact, and then brought it all home with her portrait, which he was sure she secretly liked even if there was no way she'd say so out loud.

But maybe, just maybe, he'd gotten somewhere. She hadn't refused, after all, and she had looked. And thengiven _him_ a look that held a bit more than Vulcan superiority – he and little Gaby had surprised her, for sure.

He hadn't expected to get a bonus opportunity the same night, but he wasn't the kind of guy to let a perfectly good chance go by, either. When she came into the Mess Hall late in the evening, her focus on her PADD, just as he was about to settle in for a well-earned piece of pecan pie and a glass of cold milk – just the way Mom used to serve it up for him every Friday after school – he knew he had to make his good luck count. He was still right by the drink dispenser, and she didn't rebuff him when he engaged her in conversation. No one would be accusing her of being good at small talk anytime soon, but she responded, and that counted for enough that he invited her to join him, and, because he was a gentleman, he even pulled out a chair for her.

Apparently, that gesture didn't translate to Vulcan – it probably wasn't logical, when she could just as easily set down her PADD and tea and do it herself – but he left the chair out anyway. And then he kept the conversation going, even when she said she was very tired. That by itself was something. He'd never heard any other Vulcan admit to even a hint of mortal frailty.

He wanted to cheer when she came and took that chair, but he chattered on about the fires in Sickbay and his lifelong love affair with pecan pie instead – and then had an inspiration about how to shake this conversation up a little. He raised his fork and offered her a bite, just knowing she would refuse, but still hoping she wouldn't.

She refused, but it gave them something else to talk about, while she dissed the sugar content of a dessert – clearly, she hadn't ever _tried_ a dessert, because she was totally missing the point of what dessert was _for_ , and he put it on his mental checklist to get her to try something sweet at least once, so she could base her opinion on actual taste rather than the ingredients.

Not tonight though – because she went back to reading whatever was on her PADD – withdrawing back into herself even though she was sitting in the same spot. He decided to give it one more go, and commented on her reading material – and that's when he knew something was bothering her. It was in the way she set down the tea, and swallowed, her eyes were unfocused in that turned-inward way that meant personal trouble in humans.

"You all right?" Maybe it was a breach of privacy to ask her that, but it wasn't likely anyone else on the ship was liable to notice if she was having some kind of problem, and she _was_ part of the crew. Maybe Vulcans didn't need friends, but hurting was hurting, and no one should have to hurt alone on a ship full of people.

She looked directly at him for a second or two, her eyes saying things he wished to hell he knew how to interpret, and then she said, "I'm fine, Commander. Good night." He didn't know if she thought he believed her, but, if she wasn't ready to talk, his engineering instincts said it not to push her. Still, he wanted her to know he was here, and not just in a professional capacity.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and, though she didn't respond, he felt like maybe, overall, he'd gained some ground.

And then the Vulcan ship showed up, and, right after that, the weird power surge that turned out to be an encrypted message sent to T'Pol's quarters – maybe something to do with that PADD that had her so upset? Maybe he shouldn't have gone to the Captain about it. Certainly, he shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. But hindsight was always perfect. At the time, he'd been sure there was some covert reason why she was getting encrypted messages, and he did what he thought a good third in command ought to do when the second in command might not be trustworthy….

But he should have asked her. Should have at least felt her out, to see if the conclusions he and Jon had jumped to were way off base…or he should have talked to Hoshi, at least. Hoshi, who'd maybe tried to warn him by saying she didn't think it would be right to translate the message.

But no. He'd had to go with his impulses, and read her letter – a letter he didn't really understand, but which he sure as hell wouldn't want anyone else sticking their noses into if it was his. He knew he'd done wrong by her in a big way. That made him mad, and defensive – but he knew he had to fess up to her, because there wasn't any way he could look her or his mirror in the eye until he did.

He could feel all the progress he'd made sliding away in the face of honest to goodness Vulcan anger – anger she was controlling, but not even slightly trying to hide from him. And all the while he knew the ultimatum she faced, and why that damned Vulcan ship was hanging out there like a vulture waiting to pluck her up and take her off to a husband she didn't seem that thrilled with marrying, by the look of that letter.

She had every right to never trust him again. And it just got worse when that supercilious ass, Captain Vanik, came aboard. Trip could feel T'Pol's tension, and he tried to help her out, but Jon and Vanik both seemed to be on their worst behavior. She tried – he wanted to give her a medal for the way she tried. Then it all fell apart, and Vanik said something to T'Pol that was flat-out nasty even without a translation, and she deflated and left without another word.

If he hadn't read her letter –

But she gave him another chance. Invited him to her room, asked his advice. And he wasn't going to impose his agenda on that. He was going to help her, even if what she wanted was to go back and marry her fiancé. A fiance' he'd never guess she had –

Then she dropped that bombshell about her marriage having been arranged when she was a little kid. She was considering selling herself off – and yet, it seemed like she didn't want to, that she was hoping for him to tell her he wanted her to stay…and he came real close.

But she went on and on about duty and tradition and how her personal feelings on the matter meant nothing, and he sure as hell didn't want to tell her she should ditch all that just to be here on the same ship he was on, when most of the time they still couldn't seem to even avoid butting heads, much less recapture even a hint of the magic he thought they'd had back there in Fusion.

When he left her quarters, they were both pretty steamed. Maybe it meant something that she'd lowered her voice when she mentioned confiding, and didn't hide her anger when she thought he was criticizing her culture. She'd told him things he was sure no one else on the ship knew; he'd betrayed her trust, but she'd given him another chance.

So, even though he left with a headache, and the frustration of being sure she was going to go off and do something she was going to hate – maybe even have children she'd quietly resent because she was essentially coerced into it – he thought maybe he could hang onto that little treasure. It wasn't what he'd hoped for – she was still calling him "Commander" – but it was more than he probably had any right to expect from her.

And maybe she'd have gone ahead and done that, if Malcolm and Travis hadn't ended up in a crevasse he couldn't get them out of. Only the Vulcans could, but Jon was still in a mental pissing contest with Vanik. ….until T'Pol talked him into it with a quiet passion and eloquence – and his own words, brilliantly turned to her purpose.

Then she blew his mind a second time by bucking all her world's traditions, and staying rather than going off to marry a guy who couldn't possibly know her even as well as Trip did – and he seemed to be learning by the minute that he didn't know nearly as much about her as he thought he did.

Not one other soul on this ship knew the commitment she'd just made, or the one she'd just broken. In the hour since, he'd been wracking his brains to find some way to tell her that he knew – not just what she was gaining, but also what she was losing.

When he got a message from Chef that he had one slice of pecan pie left, and was saving it for Trip, he knew just what he was going to do. He was going to welcome her to her life among humans in a very human way, to pay tribute to everything she was gaining and losing. Sweetness to celebrate the good, and maybe soften the edges of the bad.

And it didn't even matter whether he got her to call him by his nickname.


	12. Of Ducks and Water

**Spoiler Alerts for "The Andorian Incident" and earlier episodes!**

T'Pol finds fitting in with humans difficult - and that she's less than compatible with her own people, as well...

I've used a bit of headcanon here. Ambassador Soval is T'Pol's uncle. However, Vulcans don't generally discuss family connections professionally; therefore, T'Pol hasn't shared this information with her crewmates.

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story with an Ugly Duckling structure: a character is repeatedly rejected or denied happiness, until, at a critical moment, they realize where they belong, and then mirror the unsuccessful interactions with successful ones.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

"T'Pol, just once, I wish you wouldn't badger me with all the things that could go wrong!" Jonathan Archer frowned and pushed the PADD across the Ready Room desk at her. "It's a little like getting half a dozen paper cuts all at once!" He said the final sentence very quietly, but her hearing was significantly more acute than that of his species.

"It's my duty as First Officer to anticipate potential difficulties, seek solutions, and present these to you as needed."

"Well, do you have to always be so damned efficient at it? Most of this stuff seems 'highly improbable' as you'd probably put it."

"It was highly improbable that we would encounter a psychotropic pollen on Archer's World. Or that Commander Tucker would find himself impregnated by a Xyrillian engineer. However, in both cases, more attention to potential complications and protocols long accepted and proven effective within the Vulcan High Command would have prevented the difficulties."

Her statement was reasonable and demonstrably correct. Yet, somehow, it seemed only to increase the Captain's agitation, and his scent gained an acrid quality which was unsettling to her digestive tract.

"In case you haven't noticed, T'Pol – we aren't _on_ a Vulcan ship. We humans make mistakes, and we often learn more from them than we do from playing it safe."

"Perhaps you would prefer a human First Officer." She wasn't given to the human tendency of speaking such thoughts aloud, so she merely said, "Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. Go get some lunch and try not to find any problems down there I need to worry about."

She left without further comment. She would have preferred to go immediately to her quarters and meditate. Vulcans didn't eat lunch, and her unsettled stomach might reject anything she attempted to ingest when not in need of sustenance.

She was contemplating how much of her plomik broth she was required to eat when she scented Commander Tucker moving in her direction. His scent was generally pleasant, even if his companionship was often combative.

"Is that what you call lunch?" He dropped into the chair across from her.

"I call it plomik broth."

"Didn't you have the same thing for breakfast, like every other day?" His expression indicated he found something unpleasant in her dietary choices.

"Plomik broth is a traditional Vulcan breakfast, Commander Tucker."

"Then why are you having it for lunch? I've tasted it, remember? It's nothing to write home about."

"I have no interest in writing about it, Commander. The Captain ordered me to eat lunch, and this was the most – innocuous – of the available options."

"So, no BLT for you, eh? Well, okay, I know you won't eat the bacon -but lettuce and tomato aren't forbidden for you –"

"I prefer this, Commander. And that you leave my dietary concerns to me." She consumed a single spoonful, and her stomach tightened in response. "If you will excuse me." She rose. If she was going to vomit, she didn't want it to be in the presence of humans – particularly this one.

"Is that all you're gonna eat?"

"Vulcans don't eat lunch, Commander Tucker." Why was he so interested in what she consumed?

"You're a real duck out of water, T'Pol, you know that?" She didn't respond. She feared that, if she did, the plomik broth would return undigested, and, given his nature, Commander Tucker would then insist on seeing her to Sickbay.

A few moments later, she had rinsed her mouth of the offensive taste, and settled before her meditation candle. She didn't "fit in." Perhaps it was illogical to consider the number of expressions this species had to describe the circumstances in which she found herself. Certainly, it was illogical that she found her lack of suitability within this group uncomfortable.

She was a Vulcan among humans. A "duck out of water."

She had seen ducks twice during her months on Earth. The first occurred while she was in the hospital on Earth. The arboretum where she was sent each day to convalesce contained an indoor body of water known as a "pond." To her perception, the ducks not utilizing the pond seemed quite as content as those that were.

The second was during her scientific expedition to Yellowstone Park. There, the ducks had been untamed, their wings intact as those of the hospital ducks had not been. The ducks flew in and out of the wetlands, using the water, nesting beside it, resting near it. They seemed to prefer proximity to the water, and had clearly evolved for aquatic locomotion and feeding, but they were not disadvantaged if they left the ponds and lakes.

Perhaps it said something about humans that they collectively perceived a difficulty where none existed, and perpetuated the mistake, apparently without evaluating its veracity.

Perhaps it was a far better thing to be a duck out of water than a duck in the water among them.

And yet, she was still troubled when she, Captain Archer, and Commander Tucker arrived on P'Jem. Both humans had listened to her prohibitions and warnings, but there was something in their manner she was beginning to recognize. It suggested they would disregard her strictures if they felt that to be the best option.

She was correct. Perhaps it would have been better not to have mentioned the discrepancies – the clear agitation of the monk sent to greet them, who was not the head, as was customary when visitors arrived, but a secondary level adept. The icon misplaced upon a shelf.

She hadn't mentioned the most obvious variance; the unmistakable scent that permeated the hall. Captain Archer had told her to stop bringing him so many problems, and it was possible that Andorians wouldn't be a problem for humans. The two species did share some marked similarities. It was likely that, once it was ascertained that the humans weren't allied with these Vulcans, they would simply be allowed to leave.

She was incorrect. She hadn't expected the Captain and Commander Tucker to find the Andorians; generally, the Imperial Guard was far more covert. However, Commander Shran, seemed to want to advance through the military ranks quickly.

Within moments, they were led to the main meditation chamber, and held hostage with the monks.

A day later, she learned that this purportedly sacred place, where she herself had once come for needed rest and reflection, was disguising a covert listening station. She found the truth difficult to believe, even with the evidence immediately before her. Vulcans had committed acts that defied an active treaty and had then lied about them.

She returned to the ship uncertain whether she belonged there, and uncertain whether she belonged with Vulcans. Perhaps she was not a duck out of water, but a sehlat denied the sand. She sought answers in meditation, but they were denied her, as she was too agitated to reach an appropriately receptive state.

It was then that the comm in her quarters signaled. "Subcommander T'Pol, you have an incoming call from Ambassador Soval."

"Yes, Captain."

She seated herself at her terminal and attempted a calm she didn't feel. She drew three centering breaths, then opened the channel.

"Ambassador." That form of address would make it known that she wasn't open for familiarity on this occasion. Unlike Commander Tucker, her mother's younger brother was inclined to perceive and respect such signals.

"Sub-commander T'Pol." He offered her salute, which she returned. "Are you well?"

"My health is adequate."

"I have been informed of the happenings on P'Jem." He gave no indication of his reaction to the news in either tone or expression. She hadn't realized how accustomed she'd become to interpreting human emotion, or how she'd come to expect it.

"It was a mistake to bring the humans there."

"No, T'Pol." Despite her indication, he addressed her as close family, without title.

"If I hadn't brought them, Ambassador, the Andorians would have left, and the listening post would remain undetected."

"As a people, we are stronger when we deal with other species honestly. The listening post at P'Jem is dishonorable and likely to incite further mistrust of our people by the Andorians. They now have grounds to violate the treaty. It is best it was discovered, before further damage could result."

"It is doubtful that those who installed it believe so, Ambassador."

"You are likely correct. However, there are still those among us who believe in honesty and fair dealing, as you do. I speak for those Vulcans, and your mother, as well as myself. I can't prevent official repercussions, if they are enacted, but I can acknowledge that you have acted with honor and distinction in this matter, on behalf of all of Vulcan."

Perhaps it was illogical that she felt immediately reinstated to her place among her people at his words. Or that she envisioned herself among a flock of ducks landing upon the water after a long flight over arid lands.

She would speak none of this to Soval, or any other.

However, as the communication ended, her stomach announced the need for food quite loudly. She was quite hungry – she had not eaten at P'Jem.

She went to the Mess Hall. It was late, and there was no one on duty in the galley, and no plomik broth, as she generally only ate it early in the day.

She would have to, as the humans might say, "make do."

She remembered what Commander Tucker had said about his sandwich. There was a wide range of plant-based food items in stock; the ship's hrydroponics garden was mostly allocated to human items.

Perhaps it was time she began to experiment.

She gathered two slices of a bread rich in grains and seeds, and a variant of leaf labeled baby spinach, one of the red fruits Commander Tucker had consumed on his sandwich, a pleasingly sharp-scented root vegetable called a radish, and a fruit with a thick green skin that reminded her of a Vulcan desert pear until she opened it to reveal a stone pit in the center of thick, creamy green mesocarp.

These would do nicely.

She was assembling the ingredients when the light shifted, and Commander Tucker was standing in the galley doorway, watching her.

"Commander."

"I didn't mean to interrupt. You looked like you were having a moment."

"There is a certain peace in the preparation of a meal. I cooked often, before I left Vulcan."

"I never thought about it till now, but I can picture you in the kitchen." He came into the room and sat on one of the stools.

"Perhaps that's because I'm currently in the kitchen."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a wiseass, T'Pol?"

"No."

"Well, you are. You cover it up well with all that Vulcan coolness, but you aren't fooling me. What are you having? No plomik broth tonight?"

"No. I am hungry. I thought perhaps I would have a sandwich."

"You know, that sounds good. What are you putting on it?"

She listed the ingredients she'd selected, and he grinned. "Well, looks like you're taking to this sandwich thing like a duck to water, T'Pol. I think that would be amazing with bacon, but I'll do it your way tonight. That is, if you want company. I know the last couple of days couldn't have been easy for you with that creepy Andorian guy acting like you were there just for him to hit on, and then finding that listening post and finding out that some of your own people didn't deserve the trust you had in them…but maybe you'd rather not talk about that?"

"I would appreciate another topic. I find the events of the past two days unsettling, and I have already been required to report on them to the High Command."

"We can talk about anything you want, T'Pol – or nothing, if you'd rather."

"I am interested in your impressions of P'Jem – other than the experience of being held hostage. You seem quite interested in exploring other cultures. Did you find anything of interest in mine?"

"Well, it made _you_ – and you're pretty interesting." They seemed to have found a harmonious working rhythm. Now, both sandwiches were made, and, without discussing it, they tidied the galley, then Trip gestured her toward the stool across from his.

They ate in silence for a few moments. Her sandwich was quite satisfactory. "Seriously, though – I got a sense of deep history there, and deep calm. I'd love to go to a place like that again someday when there weren't Andorians beating on my best friend and shooting up the place. And I think maybe I understand you better, after being there, and seeing that many other Vulcans up close."

"I've has a similar reaction to my time on _Enterprise_."

"Maybe that's exactly what humans and Vulcans need -just more immersion in one another's cultures."

"Perhaps."

The comm sounded. "Archer to T'Pol."

She rose, suppressing regret at the end of the conversation, and the sense of belonging it had inspired. "T'Pol."

"Can you come to my Ready Room, please?"

"I'm on my way, Captain." She disconnected the unit. "Thank you for your company, Commander."

"My pleasure," he said. "And don't worry – I'll clean up."

"Thank you," she said, again, and went to report to Captain Archer.

"Sit down, T'Pol," the Captain said. "I think I owe you an apology."

"That's not necessary."

"Maybe not for you, but it is for me. When I'm wrong, I admit it. And I was wrong about your finding potential problems. I've got this funny feeling that you might have known about those Andorians sooner than Trip and I did. Am I right about that?"

"Yes, Captain. I might have known sooner than you and Commander Tucker."

"Not going to give a millimeter, are you?"

"Sir?"

He sighed. "Never mind. I didn't call you in here to get you to admit to something. I wanted to apologize, and let you know that, in future, I expect you to tell me all the problems you can see – but maybe leave off the part about what protocols the Vulcan High Command uses, because I think we can agree that they aren't exactly infallible."

T'Pol didn't tell him that she had been aware of that from the beginning of her service. She simply said, "Agreed."

"Now that that's cleared up, I also want to inform you that I have noted a commendation in your record for the way you comported yourself down there when we found that listening station. I maybe took it out on you more than I should have, but you proved that you're a person of honor and integrity – and one I'm proud to have in my crew and as my second in command. I know we've gotten off to a rocky start, but I do appreciate you, T'Pol. And I think, with a little time and understanding on both sides, you'll do just fine here with us."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Thank you, T'Pol." He smiled. It was less open in some indefinable way than Commander Tucker's, but still more pleasant than his frown. "Now, go get some sleep, or meditate, or whatever it is you do at night."

"Generally, I meditate, then read until I am ready for sleep."

"Well, don't let me keep you from that, then."

She returned to her quarters, and spent some time looking out the window before settling on her meditation cushion. Perhaps she truly could belong on this ship and with this crew, and still also belong to her own people.

Perhaps she hadn't "taken to it like a duck to water" but, with effort, she could find a place for herself among this flock of humans.


	13. Devastation

**Spoiler Alerts for "Demons" and "Terra Prime"!**

 **This story ties into Chapter One: "I Grieve With You" - though it's not necessary to read that before reading this. We look at a very difficult moment - the loss of a child near birth - from T'Pol's perspective.**

 **NOTE: This story is full of tragedy and angst, and even though it ends on a brighter note, it's a water kind of brighter. If you're not up for a lot of painful leadup, this isn't the story for you.**

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story with a Hansel and Gretel structure: the story begins with a bang, and the main character is immediately thrust into danger. The rest of the story is the effort to escape that danger.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

T'Pol was slammed into the turbolift wall, then the ceiling, then the floor, all in less than a second. In the next, searing pain in her abdomen, and the gush of blood and amniotic fluid, as she was still attempting to adapt to the initial impacts –

Complete darkness, and -

A silence in her mind where Grace's developing katra had been.

The pain of the maternal bond's severing was far more devastating than the physical injuries she had sustained in the accident. She began to probe, desperately searching for some trace, any remnant she could cling to, gather to her, and nurture.

Because she was a logical being, she also probed carefully along her swollen abdomen…and found a jagged fragment of a support beam protruding approximately 40 centimeters from a point slightly above her pelvic bone – precisely where Phlox's last scans had shown Grace's head to be.

From the intensity of her internal pain, and the silence along her link with her child, T'Pol knew the truth.

Grace was dead.

The scream rose within her, surging up through her mind and her broken body, and she could do nothing to hold it back. It was a force of its own, a howling against the inescapable and unbearable realities, against the logic that demanded she accept even this, that she turn to her mate and her family for comfort.

Trip.

She was going to have to tell Trip – and the renewed pain in his eyes and his soul was in some ways more unbearable to contemplate than was her own. More, she was in a precarious condition. She had lost a considerable amount of blood and was almost certainly experiencing uterine hemorrhage. More, any incident capable of overcoming the safety controls of the turbolift, thereby causing an accident of this magnitude, was likely to have had considerable repercussions throughout the ship, with possible catastrophic casualties and structural damage.

Perhaps Trip was dead – she couldn't feel him. She wanted to reach out for him – but she was afraid. If he was dead, as their child was, and she left alone –

Perhaps there was no longer any reason to hold to her own life.

And yet, she could not release it. She could no more do that than she could stop the screams that erupted, one atop another, so that they seemed a ceaseless force within her – perhaps all that was left to her.

She gave herself to the screams. She would live or die, and, if her mate was dead as her unborn child was, there would be release in death.

A change in the quality of the air, and then she heard a voice that stopped the screams as suddenly as they had started.

"Oh damn oh damn oh damn!"

T'Pol could see nothing, but his fear-scent overwhelmed the stench of blood and fluid. She needed to say the words now, so he would know, so he wouldn't face the cruelty of a hope that could never come to be.

"Trip. I can't feel her mind. Our baby is dead."

"I know. I felt you feel her. I thought – I thought you were dead, too…"

"I can't feel your mind. Trip – I feared – "

He is sobbing and shouting upward – toward the emergency hatch. "Get Phlox the hell down here. Get him now."

"I'm here, Commander. Move to the other side of your wife, if you will, and I'll be able to assess her condition."

"There's so much blood – she's so pale, Doc. Please tell me you can save her."

"I have a full stock of T'Pol's blood available in stasis, Commander." There was movement, and then Trip's hands warm on her face. Phlox went on, conversationally. "Moreover, a good deal of this blood is due to the pregnancy and would have been lost at delivery. I regret to inform you both that Grace didn't survive – but I am certain she suffered nothing – her death was instantaneous." A deep, shaky breath, and then, "I know the hopes you both had for a healthy daughter at last. I grieve with you as I would for my own family."

"Doc, is she – is my wife –? "

"T'Pol is young, and healthy, and strong. Now then, T'Pol. Please focus on the light for a moment."

"I see no light."

"Doc, that can't be good. You're shining it right in her eyes. Can't you see it at all, pepperpot?"

"I see no light. I don't feel your mind. But I live, Trip, and so do you. Our child doesn't. That's all I know in this moment." There was a growing sense of vagueness and fatigue at the edges of awareness.

"Doc?"

Sound rose and fell in waves. She tried to follow the conversation, but it was becoming difficult to focus.

"The blindness is not a critical issue, Commander. It can be assessed later. It is possible she's sustained an injury, or that she is responding psychosomatically to the death of the child."

A strange sound rose from her – not a cry, and not a moan, but something that was both, perhaps.

"Pepperpot? Stay with me."

"I'm incapable of moving…" She could think the words, but only the moaning cry emerged.

"Phlox – we're losing her! Gotta get her to Sickbay, where you can help her!"

"Be calm, Trip…panic will hinder the doctor…" But her words were lost, as was Trip's mind, and Grace's.

"T'Pol would doubtless tell you than emotional outbursts are of little use, if she were able, Commander Tucker. We must remove this fragment before we move her; it's dangerously close to several vital organs and the spinal column."

She tried to hold to consciousness, to feel Trip holding her hand, but the vagueness held her, and she was powerless to resist. Phlox's voice followed her down, and down….

"However, the removal process is likely to be extremely painful, and may be accompanied by another significant loss of blood. If we can't staunch the flow quickly, the risk of death increases dramatically."

Trip's fear-scent was choking out the air. "Tell me what I need to do. Anything – "

* * *

She woke on Earth. How had she come to be here? The scents were of a hospital – and Trip, sleeping nearby, but not near enough to touch.

"T'hy'la…."

"Pepperpot!" His voice and scent held a tangle of human emotion too complex to decipher through her fatigue.

"I can't feel your mind, t'hy'la…I can't see you, and I can't touch you."

"I know." There was something guarded and careful in his voice. "I'll come closer, so you can touch me." He did, and his paired fingers were there against hers.

"I need more. Come be here with me."

"I'm not sure that's safe….T'Pol, what do you remember about – about the turbolift?"

"Grace….Grace is dead."

"Yeah. I still can't believe it….I mean, she's still in there, but Phlox couldn't save her – her skull….oh, god, pepperpot, her skull was crushed, and you damned near died, too, from the internal damage."

"I need you to hold me, Trip. I can't feel you – in the bond. It's…barren. Please."

"All right. I don't think the healers are going to understand – but I guess we'll deal with that later. You need to be held, I'll hold you." He eased in very gingerly, and she sighed as his weight settled in next to her, and she breathed in as deeply as she was able, taking in his scent, even though it suggested he hadn't showered in some time. It was proof that he was here, and that he lived.

"Our bond…is it broken?"

"No – I can feel you just fine. I feel how much you're hurting, and scared, and worried about me. You're sending fine; it's your receiver that's not working. But I make you this promise. I'm here, and, short of death, I'm not going anywhere without letting you know. "

"Don't go!"

"Shh…shh….I'm not going anywhere right now. Do you have any idea how scared I've been for you?"

"Yes. I can smell it."

"Oh, damn. Didn't even think of that, but I've got to be pretty ripe even by human terms. To your nose –"

"It is deeply comforting. Trip – why can't I see?"

"Well, you've stumped the Vulcans. You got banged up pretty well, but you never hit your head, and you didn't suffer a contre-coup injury, either. They can't understand it, but Phlox knows you a hell of a lot better than they do. He suspects it's psychosomatic – that not being able to feel Grace caused your mind to…well, to shut down your optical and telerotic sensors. Your eyes work fine, and our bond is intact. It's just that your brain isn't ready to take in that information. Phlox can explain it better, if you want, but it's like your muscles clenched so hard they locked. Once you – adjust –"

"Adjust? You mean, to Grace's death. To the death of our fourth child? Trip – I am uncertain I'm capable adjustment."

"I'll be honest – I don't know that I can, either. But…we felt that way after Elizabeth, and the boys…and we found a way. I think we just need to focus on breathing for now. Maybe…maybe somehow, we'll find our way through this."

She said nothing, but she knew the truth. With Elizabeth, and the two embryonic boys they'd named Stern and Charles, after their fathers, they had had the bond to sustain them. Now, she was alone in a way she'd never been before – bonded, but unable to sense her mate, or draw sustenance from the bond.

"Hey, just because you can't sense me in the bond doesn't mean I'm not right here supporting you, pepperpot. I can feel you, remember? I can feel what you need, and help you get it. And we had ways of connecting before we ever had a bond – that's how we got to the point where we could have one, remember? I've got Kov and Koss already on their way from Vulcan, and my neuropressure's in fine fettle, and Soval's getting the Arizona house ready –"

"But what of Grace?" She took his handand moved it with hers over the bandaged swell of her abdomen, which felt heavy and far too still. There was no pain.

"That's the hard part….T'Pol, she's got to come out, one way or another. You started to labor, but I asked Phlox to stop it until we could talk – but the Vulcans are adamant that she be delivered surgically. I've told them all that you aren't just a vehicle; you're her _mama_. Whatever you decide, I'm here with you, and I'll back you up and fight like a sehlat if anyone tries to do anything you don't want."

It was then that the healer came to them, demanding to deliver "the remains of the child." T'Pol was quite certain she behaved in a way that would further label her V'Tosh Katur among her own people, but she cared nothing for that. She held to Trip, and he did as he said he would, and stood as her champion, as he had stood upon the sands and declared his willingness to fight with his life for the privilege of being her mate.

"You will take nothing from me this day!"

Only when the words broke from her did she know that she desired to labor and bear Grace in the way they had arranged – in the peace of their quarters, with water to represent Trip's homeworld, and candlelight for her own, and Phlox, who had in so many ways been the neutral bridge between them, to attend them.

* * *

The birth itself was brief. Grace had been nearly ready to be born; the earliest signs had already been evidenced at the time of her death. Her own body proved adept at expelling the infant, and Phlox made a soft comment that she might find further births equally smooth.

"Place her to my breast, Trip," she whispered, knowing there was no logic in it, but needing that small weight there in female mammalian ways that were beyond all reason.  
Trip did as she commanded, though he was sobbing, and saw that she was warm and comfortable as Phlox tended to the matter of the afterbirth. As her womb clenched and shrank, her milk released, and it was the trigger for her own weeping.

Later, she traced the places where the small fragile skull had been destroyed, her fingers lingering on the brain, where their child's katra had resided – all that had made her a being unique unto herself. All that was lost, because she had been unprepared for the moment of Grace's death.

"She's not lost, T'Pol. I have her katra. I'll keep it safe, until you can feel it again."

There was comfort enough in that that she could explore the rest of her child's body, and her face. She had small, perfect points on ears that rounded at the bottom in human fashion, and a sturdy body with short, strong legs. When she had finished, she turned to the feel of Trip's scent. "I wish to bathe her, and dress her."

"All right. I've got everything set up for you. Human bath and Vulcan, for our sweet girl."

She was unaccustomed to him knowing what she desired when she couldn't sense him in the link. Perhaps, this was how he had felt when she first learned of the bond, and he hadn't yet learned how to participate with intention.

He was there to assist her with the bathing, particularly with the water bath – Grace became quite slippery. The fine sandbath was soothing; it had been some time since she herself had bathed in the traditional Vulcan fashion.

"As soon as Phlox says you can, I'll help you. Arizona seems like a good place for that."

"Not Arizona. Mississippi. We need to be with your family, Trip. Have you told them?"

"Yeah. While you were still unconscious. Mom called to wish us well and invite us – and ended up sending condolences." His voice broke on the last word. "They'd be happy to have us there, if that's where you want to be. But we can't go yet – Phlox says it will be a bit before you can be released from his care. So for now, we're staying put."

* * *

The week of waiting to be cleared for travel was what she might have called a nightmare if she was human. _Enterprise_ had become threatening – she'd been told the turbolift accident was caused by a near collision that short-circuited the EPS grid, and, at the same time, burned out the turbolift's safety mechanisms, so that the device had gained momentum, only stopping when it reached the end of its designated route.

She was no longer able to trust that another incident wouldn't occur. Four dead children consumed her. Those, and the worry for Trip every time he left their quarters. Unable to see, and unable to sense his presence in the bond, she desired nothing but closeness with him – to be touching. When he was gone, all was empty and barren – as her womb was empty, and her arms were empty.

Once again, she was a mother with no child.

And now, no sense of her bond.

A mother with no child, and a Vulcan with no bond.

There was nothing else. She had no family, beyond Soval – and she wouldn't face Soval, as she was. Perhaps that, too, was illogical, but it was no less true.

Trip remained with her as much as he was able – but there were matters to settle before they could leave the ship. She was unfit for duty, unfit to be a Vulcan wife, unfit to be a mother…but Trip was still Chief Engineer, and there were duties he must tend to in order to take leave.

Tonight, he was dining with Captain Archer – a "farewell dinner" the Captain had insisted on. She, too, had been "invited" – but she would not go. She wanted only to be here in these quarters, not moving blindly through a ship that might, in any moment, take something else from her.

Hoshi and Phlox were here, because she couldn't bear to be alone with the hollowness of her inner life – bereft of child and sense of her mate. Hoshi had attempted to carry on a conversation, and to help her prepare to leave the ship, but T'Pol was empty of words to speak and attention to give – she was in a state of suspension, as though unable to function until Trip returned – bringing the Captain with him.

She didn't care who saw. She saw nothing, felt nothing but the unending need to have her child and be near her mate – to feel him as she was meant to. She followed Trip's scent, and launched herself toward him, knowing that he would catch her if she stumbled.

She did, and he did, and then she was pulling him toward the bed, where she felt safest, and where she could feel him pressed against her. She longed for more, but Phlox had not yet cleared them for resuming sexual intercourse.

"I know, pepperpot," he whispered in her ear. "I can feel it. But there's nothing says we can't try some advanced neuropressure."

But neuropressure wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted was her bond, and her children – and nothing other. Visual sight was an insignificant loss, next to the others.

Without her children, and her ability to touch the bond, she was lost.

* * *

The journey to the transporter had been nearly too much; Phlox had been required to sedate her. Illogical. Perhaps she truly had become V'Tosh Katur.

Perhaps there was no shame in being without logic, in such circumstances.

But now they were preparing to leave _Enterprise,_ and beam to Earth. She was uncertain she wanted ever to return here.

"No need to decide now," Trip told her. "Let's take some time to heal."

His strength was her solace – but was it true, or meant to calm her, while he endured his pain alone? Even if he answered, without the bond, she couldn't be certain. Nor could she do anything about her dependence.

She must rely upon him.

They were beamed down, with Phlox and Hoshi in attendance to assist with settling her in the room she and Trip would share at his parents' Mississippi home.

* * *

She stroked Schrodinger's soft fur, and felt the thrumming vibrations of the tiny throat. The kitten made rhythmic motions with his forelegs, an instinctive mammalian attempt to stimulate its mother's milk production.

"This is a positive development."

Trip came to sit beside her, holding the other infant felinoid. "You bet it is, pepperpot. These two are getting feisty, and their eyes are starting to open. In another week, we're not going to be able to keep up with them."

His satisfaction in the kittens' development was layered with grief for Grace, and concern for her. She sensed them only dimly, but, after the weeks in which she couldn't feel him at all, it was solace.

And there was more. "You are wearing your blue shirt."

"Pepperpot? Have you been keeping a secret from me?"

"No, t'hy'la. This is the first."

"Because you had faith, T'Pol. No matter how hard it was, and don't think I don't know how hard this has been for you – but no matter how hard it was, you didn't give up. Not back there in that horror in the turbolift. Not when you couldn't see or feel me at all. Not when it came to giving our baby girl a sweet sendoff…" His voice choked off.

"I grieve with you." The simple Vulcan phrase held the deepest of meanings, now, and she reached paired fingers out to him as he gathered her into his embrace, mindful of the kittens on their laps. "At last, Trip – at last, I grieve with you."

Ironic, and perhaps illogical, that there should be any sweetness in sharing such sorrow.


	14. Vulcan Birds and Human Bees

**Spoiler Alerts for "Breaking the Ice"; "Fusion"; "Unexpected"; and "Shadows of P'Jem"!**

 **This story is just a lighthearted romp through a question Trip asks himself, and needs an answer to, for personal reasons.**

 **NOTE: This story contains mild sexual themes. If that's not your thing; this isn't the fluff for you.**

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story using the MICE anagram: basing the story on Milieu, Inquiry, Character, and/or Event . This is an I(c) story - the focus is on Inquiry, but Trip also makes something of an internal journey on his way to the answer he seeks.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

So how did Vulcans handle making more Vulcans?

That was the question that had consumed Trip Tucker ever since he put his hands in a box of imaginary-or-so-he-thought pebbles to play a game with a pretty scaled lady, and ended up carrying her child – hers alone, because he was only the host.

So…how the hell did _Vulcans_ do it?

 _Did_ they do it?

Did _T'Pol_?

She looked way too young to be anybody's mama, but Ambassador V'Lar has suggested she was older than she looked, maybe by a lot. So…did she have any little pointy eared children anywhere? A little boy with her serious frown? A little girl with her pixieish face?

Probably not, since she hadn't gotten married to order the way she was supposed to.

So, was she being cheated out of having children when she was supposed to, because she'd decided to stay with _Enterprise?_

He hadn't thought about that when he talked to her in her quarters and tried to get her to see that what _she_ wanted was worth taking into account. But he'd never considered that, even though she wanted to stay with them, and didn't want to marry Koss (because, logically, if she _had_ wanted to marry him, she would just have gone home and done that, and there would have been no conundrum bad enough that she looked to him, of all people, for advice), she might want children very badly.

After all, she was clearly a woman, and, though he was sure most of the crew didn't see it, he could tell she had a strong maternal instinct. She had a way of fussing over how he and Jon looked, babysitting them, and throwing herself in front of weapons fire meant for other people that reminded Trip of his own mother.

Had she given up her chance at having a baby of her own to be part of this crew? And had she done that because of him; because of the strange attraction that they seemed to have in some weird on again, off again fashion?

Was _he_ any part of the reason she wasn't a mother?

And, just how _did_ they go about making babies on Vulcan?

For him, it all came back to that. He'd asked Kov a question or two, but hadn't gotten to the nitty-gritty before that creep Tolaris had stalked and manipulated and gaslighted his way into T'Pol's head, and damned near done – _what?_ – to her?

He still didn't know what had happened, only that the aftermath had been both terrifying and a revelation, with T'Pol clinging to him, begging him not to let Tolaris take her dreams, and that potentially fatal condition Kov had said she might have, but which T'Pol, once she was feeling more like herself again, all but ordered him to speak about with no one – even her.

Kov had mentioned that Vulcan males only needed to mate once every seven years. But did that mean they _couldn't_ have sex, otherwise?

And what about the women? If they didn't have the same restrictions, yet they were married, how did _that_ work? Open marriages? A lot of unsatisfied Vulcan women?

Was that why every one he'd seen looked so severe, other than T'Pol?

And, if she didn't look like that, then why _didn't_ she?

Had she had lovers? Or, if he was going to use Kov's terminology, _mates_?

How many?

And why the hell was he asking _himself_ all these questions, when he didn't have any of the answers, and there was someone aboard who had _all_ of them.

But did he have the guts to just come out and _ask_ her?

He wished he'd come up with this idea before V'Lar left. He had a feeling she was old enough and bold enough to tell him. But he hadn't thought to do that, so now –

If he wanted to know, he was going to have to ask T'Pol. He knew that for sure, because he'd already been through the database, and, of course, everything on Vulcan anatomy or physiology or reproduction was marked "Classified." He was sure that was their favorite word, as a species.

What the hell were they so secretive about? Did they clone their babies, or something? Grow them in tubes and decant them later, like they did in _Brave New World_?

Or were they really so uptight and inhibited as a species that they didn't want to admit that they were of the same old "tab A in slot B" variety as humans?

Or was it that passion wasn't _logical_ , and they weren't going to admit for a second that they were ever, ever, illogical, even for a few minutes every seven years?

Why was he asking himself all these questions? Well, _that_ one he had an easy answer to. He was asking himself because he was frankly terrified to go ask _her_.

Of course, he was never going to get the answers, if he didn't. As to why he was so eager to _have_ those answers….well, there were some things he didn't even want to ask himself.

But he wasn't going to rest until he knew…knew whether there was any chance at all, ever, that….well, that he and T'Pol could ever come together…. _that_ way.

He wasn't going to ask himself whether there was any way to get to that point. Just whether, if they ever did, if their species were…..well, _compatible_. Not necessarily for making babies…that wouldn't be a good idea in deep space, even if it was possible…but just for the "do my parts and your parts go together well enough to make a little purely illogical magic?"

Not that he could say that to her. Nope, He was going to have to figure out how to phrase it as a line of inquiry, if he was going to get anywhere. Otherwise, she'd shut him down – he was sure of that.

But, if he suggested that he was doing research – maybe the fact that he'd gotten unintentionally with child was his opening, even though it was also damned embarrassing.

Yes! That was it. She was the First Officer, the Science Officer, and a mother hen. She also seemed to be mightily and illogically jealous when he interacted with other pretty women – and, even if she wasn't going to admit it, that meant that the five times she'd deconned his shoulders after Rigel Ten weren't just an anomaly.

Maybe she _wanted_ him to ask her…but she needed it put in a way she could answer and still respect herself as a Vulcan in the morning, so to speak.

* * *

He waited until they bumped into one another in an empty Mess Hall at 0300 – five days later. No one else was likely to wander in at this hour…and he'd been carrying a PADD with him everywhere so he'd be ready for this moment.

Now he just had to get up the nerve to _do_ it without losing his nerve.

She was at the dispenser, and she had a PADD of her own, abd he got the idea she wanted company, but wasn't going to ask for it.

That left it up to him.

Trip took a deep breath, and dived in headfirst. "Sub-Commander, would you mind my asking you a few research questions?"

"I am the Science Officer." She came to the table, but remained standing, tea in one hand, and PADD in the other, and he had a strange sense of deja-vu, even though he didn't have any pecan pie tonight.

"Well, these questions might seem a little….personal. You see, I've been giving a lot of though to what happened on the Xryrillian ship…"

That did it. "You put your hands where they didn't belong." She sat down, and stared at him, and her color came up a little. She wasn't going to admit it, but she had very strong feelings about that incident.

"That's just the point. I didn't _know_ that's what I was doing. She never said it was. Now, maybe she assumed everyone else did it the same way, or maybe her people don't think you need to ask before doing that – I don't know. And I think, if we're going to be out here, we _need_ to know, because, in case you haven't noticed, we humans have a way of sticking our hands in things."

"I have indeed noticed, Commander Tucker. I have attempted to persuade you otherwise."

"Not gonna work. It's our nature. But, when it comes to…well, boxes of pebbles – we need to know what to look for. So, what I thought was, maybe we need some guidelines. How various species deal with – well, _their_ versions of boxes of pebbles. For instance, humans – that would be hard to mistake for something else."

"Perhaps not, to a member of a species which employs a medium such as the Xyrillians. I believe this is a useful effort, Commander, and a commendable one."

This was going better than he'd expected. Might as well go all in. "Then – will you help me with it?"

"All the High Command has learned of other species' mating habits is included in the databases acquired with my assignment. I doubt I have anything of value to add."

"Well, now – that's where I think you made a mistake, because there's one species not included in your databases."

She tensed almost imperceptibly. "There is no information on my species. It wasn't necessary for our needs, obviously."

"But – for mine…well, what we don't know…" He left the end of the sentence open, and sipped his sweet coffee, long and slow, letting his eyes close, both to show her he was relaxed, and to give her a little space, because pushing her never really seemed to work.

"Given the nature of my people, it's not likely to present a risk."

Trip tried to cover for the fact that he was a little shocked she was still here talking to him with another sip or two. Then he played his trump card, proud he'd thought of this one in advance. "Okay, I'll grant you that – but remember what happened with the Kreetassans? If we don't have any idea at all how you Vulcans go about these things, then we might just do something like insult your marriage practices." He gave her a grin with his head tipped; she seemed to get a little softer every time he did that.

"I will concede the point. Very well. The mechanics seem quite analogous with human reproductive practices. However, humans are considerably more prolific and unrestrained in their pursuits. My species practices such activities within committed relationships, and generally for the purpose of reproduction rather than – the easing of tension."

Trip bit his tongue. He wasn't going to say anything stupid, and he wasn't going to show her that this bothered him, either.

But he could almost hear the door of possibility slamming closed on his dreams. Why the hell had he wanted that answer so much, anyway?


	15. Dueling Lists AKA Culture Clash

**Spoiler Alerts for "Broken Bow"!**

 **This story is another bit of slightly spicy fluff.**

 **Trip and T'Pol see their early interactions very differently...**

 **NOTE: This story contains mild sexual themes at the end. If that's not your thing; this isn't the fluff for you.**

The Story A Day prompt was to write a list story: the story is embedded in a list. In this case, I used two alternating lists to explore how T'Pol and Trip experience the same events differently (and/or not so differently)...

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

 **Point 1:** Commander Tucker extended his entire hand to me, in the presence of Jonathan Archer, and while we were both on duty. This is an intimate act meant to be shared only between bonded mates – which we are not – and only in the privacy of their own chambers. He has clearly taken no time to explore the customs of my people.

 **First Thing:** She turned her back on my handshake as though we'd never met before, or I was a leper or something way too unsavory to touch. Now, I know Jon wasn't exactly "extending her every courtesy," or anywhere close, but I kind of get the feeling she was taking it out on me, and I didn't do anything to deserve that. Who the hell rejects an introductory _handshake_ , of all things? Of course, I have to admit, there are definite visual benefits to having Miss Sub-Commander T'Pol's backside pointed in my direction.

 **Point 2** : Commander Tucker's proper appellation is Commander Charles Tucker the Third, and yet he attempted to impose an informal and overly familiar alternative – again, on duty, and in the presence of Captain Archer. He committed this violation of protocol despite the fact that his alternative appellation was mentioned repeatedly by several others during our previous encounter, and therefore, logically, he must know I'm already aware of it.

 **Second Thing:** She frosted right up when I told her I'm called Trip – like I'd committed social suicide or something. But _everyone_ calls me Trip – everyone but _her_. What's it going to be like spending the next 8 days with Miss "I'll Try to Remember That?" She sure as hell remembered it fine in all my fantasies!

 **Point 3** : Commander Tucker seems to take considerable pleasure in making me a target for his indulgence in the illogical human practice known as "humor." Moreover, he conducts this practice regardless of circumstances, with no apparent respect for the protocols and standards which apply to duty. He also seems to be seeking a particular variety of response based solely on his own species' nature, and to have no understanding that humor is not a concept shared by all species.

 **Third Thing** : The woman is insufferable, and there's no way to get a rise out of her with teasing. I'm doing the best I can to make her feel welcome, and see that humans are more than Vulcans give us credit for, and that I just want to be friendly, and she calls us a bunch of "impetuous carnivores." The thing is, she's just right enough about that that it's hard to tell her how wrong she is…but, and I'm only going to admit this here – she's got a hell of a sharp mind, and something that's almost wit, and it's kind of fun going toe to toe with her. She's mentally stimulating and different from any woman I've met before.

 **Point 4:** Although Commander Tucker is a competent engineer, and clearly is respected by the entire crew, he often engages in emotional displays that are counterproductive to the purpose of our shared duty. He challenges every statement I make, and generally misinterprets them, assigning emotion-based intentions I don't possess. He has a disagreeable tendency to do this at considerable volume, and the construction of Engineering ensures that the sound will be magnified. Perhaps I will need to consult Dr. Phlox for remediation of this difficulty, to ensure I am able to operate at optimal efficiency.

 **Fourth Thing:** She seems to think Vulcans are better than humans at _everything_! "Vulcan children play with toys more sophisticated than this!" Well, la-tee-da! Just because we're new at this and still figuring things out doesn't mean we're incompetent! Then she doesn't even give me the satisfaction of reacting when I yell at her. Okay, I _know_. I shouldn't be yelling at her; I'm gonna need more time in the gym if Jon's going to keep pushing her down to me because he doesn't like her or want her on the Bridge. She's infuriating – especially when she's right – our sensors _aren't_ up to the job.

 **Point 5:** Commander Charles Tucker the Third is a man of great passion and considerable aesthetic appeal. Though he is emotional and undisciplined, he possesses a logical mind which sees possibilities and connections mine doesn't. He has a strong sense of conviction and is loyal to his captain and _Enterprise'_ s crew. I am uncertain that the mission to return Klaang, to his homeworld would have succeeded without the shifts in perspective Commander Tucker's insistence allowed me to consider. While working with him presents many challenges, it is possible that there is great value in it, as well. Also, his scent when he is physically aroused, as he was in the Decontamination Chamber, is most pleasant, and I must guard against further improprieties such as those I surrendered to during that incident. I will increase my frequency of meditation; however, I don't regret the opportunity to explore this human male's musculature and bioelectric energy, both of which I found most pleasing.

 **Fifth Thing:** T'Pol in her underwear! The two of us all alone in Decon, rubbing that gel all over each other….damn! I'm not sure if that was flat-out torture, or if I'm the luckiest damned human man in the history of forever, or maybe both. But I _am_ sure that she's more beautiful than I ever dreamed her, and that she _wanted_ to touch and be touched. I couldn't stop my…uh…physical response, and, even if she didn't say anything about it, there's no way in hell she didn't _see_ it. She let me peek, let me touch her ears – touched mine right back even, and I swear that, "I fail to see your point" of hers was a damn creditable attempt at a _pun_! I'm pretty sure she was sniffing me when she went all the way down my legs – and I know she went over my shoulders _five_ times – because I counted. There's no _logic_ in that, unless she just _liked_ touching me. Of course, that hasn't done one damned thing to make me stop fantasizing about taking things a hell of a lot further….I gotta go burn some of this energy off before I embarrass myself!


	16. Poison

**Spoiler Alerts for "Impulse", "Harbinger","Damage", and "Zero Hour"!**

 **This story is another bit of slightly spicy fluff.**

 **NOTE: This story deals wit addiction and contains mild sexual themes. If that's not your thing; this one isn't for you.**

T'Pol has just revealed her trellium addiction to Trip; his volatile reaction led her to inject herself twice more. This conversation happens in the aftermath of that event.

The Story A Day prompt was to write a story comprised entirely of dialogue.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

"Why the hell did you do that?!"

"I…."

"T'Pol! That stuff is _poison_ to you! Not to mention that it turns you into a raving _lunatic!_ "

"You don't seem to need a psychotropic agent to accomplish that purpose."

"Now what the hell is _that_ supposed to - oh. Okay, point taken. Guess I need a deep breath –"

"Three would be preferable."

"You're going to tell me how to _breathe_? Even _now_ , with that damned hypospray in your hand, you're going to play Little Miss I Can Do _Everything_ Better Than You?"

"That wasn't my intention."

"Then what the hell _was_ your intention? And while you're at it, how bout answering that _first_ question, and don't think for a _second_ that I didn't notice the way you skirted right around it."

"My intention was to assist you in your goal of calming yourself. Three deep centering breaths are a practice taught to Vulcan children as they exit infancy and gain agency in their lives. I thought perhaps you –"

"What? Have the emotional maturity of a Vulcan _toddler_?! Nice one, T'Pol. Real nice."

"I didn't say that. I merely – wanted to help."

"Hey, why are you crying? Never mind. I know. That damned trellium, which you _still_ haven't explained."

"It's – it's not the trellium, Trip. It's you."

"I'm making a _Vulcan_ cry? Damn, I must be _good_! Hey, I didn't really mean that last bit. I want to understand – well, _all_ of this. But let's start with the crying, okay? Because, if I'm the reason for it, and it's something I can do anything about, T'Pol, you have to know that I will."

"I don't know that."

"Well, then – either I've dropped the ball, or you're missing something pretty important about me, and that's that I'm here for you – whatever you need."

"I need you not to interpret my meanings in human terms. I am Vulcan. I mean what I say. In your terms, literally."

"So you really _were_ trying to help me calm down? Just that? No comment on my maturity level?"

"If I considered you an emotional infant, Trip, I wouldn't have initiated sexual intimacies with you."

"Well, I guess you've got a point, there. All right – I'm going to work on that. But there's still a pretty huge unanswered question, and you're holding it like you'd drop me in a Vulcan heartbeat if I tried to take it from you."

"It's entirely possible that I would."

"That implies something more than a casual relationship with that stuff."

"I'm addicted to 'this stuff.'"

"When? _How?_ Never mind those for now – let's go back to the beginning. Why, pepperpot? _Why?_ Why in hell would you want that stuff in your body, after what it did to you? To all those Vulcans on the _Seleya_?"

"I…I don't know."

"You. Don't. Know? Don't know why you'd choose to – to shoot up – _poison_? Poison that could easily turn you into a paranoid and homicidal maniac, when you're the damned _Acting Captain_?"

"I wasn't the Acting Captain when I became addicted."

"Okay. You said three months, so I can't argue with that. But…you _had_ to know –"

"I told Phlox that I wanted more of the emotions I felt – when the trellium began to dissipate."

"But that's not really true, is it?"

"It is true – but it's not what I told myself, nor is it the only truth in my actions."

"What _did_ you tell yourself, then?"

"I told myself that, if I could develop a tolerance for the compound, _Enterprise_ 's hull could be shielded, and the crew wouldn't be forced to face anomalies unprotected, simply because I'm aboard. However, that is also not the whole of the truth. I didn't understand that then, but I do now."

"And the truth is that you don't know _why_ you did this to yourself? That it wasn't just to feel things you hadn't let yourself feel, or to save the ship? But some other reason you don't understand?"

"Yes. That is the truth. I was….compelled to seek more trellium. Trip – I crushed the rocks and ingested them. Regardless of what I told myself, that is clearly aberrant and illogical behavior, in retrospect."

"You – ate rocks?"

"More specifically, the ore from the rocks, powdered. Later, I mixed it with plomik broth, which made it easier to ingest, although it did little for the palatability. I told myself I was conducting an experiment – and yet, I told no one, even Phlox, or even you, what I was doing, and what I intended to accomplish."

"That sounds a little like Dr. Jeckyll or Dr. Frankenstein. It doesn't sound like _you_ – not at all."

"That's why I don't know, Trip. I was lying to myself, and the consequent damage has made it impossible to understand what my true motive might have been. I'm sorry, but I can't answer your question. I don't intend to be evasive –"

"You've been more open than I have any right to expect, with the way I acted. That's what this relapse is about, isn't it? The way I acted when you told me."

"I don't know. Perhaps. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of this day's events and stresses, and all those that led up to them. I kept the hypospray; it's logical to assume I was not ready to release it entirely."

"Well, my acting like an ass couldn't have helped, even a little. I'm sorry. I know I'm real late to this party, but I want to help any way I can. You're my Captain, my friend – and my Valentine, remember?"

"I remember – t'hy'la."

"I still don't quite get what that means – but, starting right now, I'm going to do my damnedest to live up to it. So tell me – what do you need me to do for you?"

"I need _– you_."

"Guess I don't have to ask _how_ you need me, with the way you're smelling. All right, Valentine. In the best tradition of the holiday, I'm all yours."


	17. A Vital Discussio in Four Sonnets

**Spoiler Alerts for "Bounty", "Impulse", and "Bound"** **!**

 **This story is a little different, and there are mild sexual themes.**

T'Pol and Trip have a discussion necessary for anyone who wants to have a romantic relationship with a Vulcan.

The Story A Day prompt was to write a sonnet story - a story that fits into the 14 lines of a sonnet. We weren't expected to be concerned with rhyme or meter, but were encouraged to explore Petrachan sonnets (7 lines to build a point; 7 to refute, expand upon, or respond to it), and Shakespearean sonnets (3 quatrains with a paired couplet providing a "twist" at the end).

I opted for a pair of Petrachan sonnets interspersed with a pair of Shakespearean sonnets, and to only use dialogue.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

 **Sonnet One:**

"There's something bothering you, don't deny it.

I can see it in the way you're not meeting my eyes and I hear it in your voice.

You're hiding something the way you did the trellium – but you can't keep hiding forever, T'Pol.

I can feel it; it's a tickling itch in my mind, and you can't keep this secret much longer.

So here's my question:

What is it you're afraid of?

What could possibly be so bad after all we've just been through?"

"There is something troubling me; I don't intend to deny it.

I'm finding it difficult to meet your intimate gaze or to control the agitation in my voice.

I'm not hiding another addiction, but that I'm lost in what must soon be said, Trip.

The tickling itch in your mind will be flames that consume my own, all secrets revealed.

So here is my answer:

I'm afraid of my instincts.

And _pon farr_ is far more dangerous than anything we've been though."

* * *

 **Sonnet Two:**

" _Pon farr?_ What's that? It's Vulcan, isn't it?"

"Which question would you prefer I answer first?"

"Never mind about it being Vulcan; I can already tell it is."

"You still haven't specified between the other two queries."

"You're stalling – essentially, they mean the same thing."

"Your questions are too general."

"How can I be more specific when I don't have a clue what you're talking about?"

"How can I answer when your question is the Vulcan heart and the Vulcan soul?"

"Hang on a second – the priest said that at your wedding. I remember."

"It is said at every Vulcan wedding, because it is our most primal truth."

"First instincts, then flames that consume, now primal –what are we talking about?"

"We're discussing the realities of being the mate of one of my kind."

"Exactly what realities? Something more than this bond?"

"Much more. In _pon farr's_ madnes, if I don't mate, I'll die."

* * *

 **Sonnet Three:**

"Die if you don't have sex? Where's the logic in that?

What the hell kind of crazy evolution is this?

And you said 'in _pon farr's_ madness' – so just what does that mean?

Is it like the way you were after the _Seleya_?

No, wait – there was something Malcolm said once

When you and Phlox were in Decon, and you broke out

He said you propositioned him, and you were relentless. Is that what it was?"

"From your first question, to your last, sequentially –

Yes – I will die if I don't mate, and there is no logic at all in _pon farr_.

Perhaps it's an evolutionary misstep.

Madness means that I will be in mating-rut, with nothing else relevant

And the exposure on _Seleya_ may seem as nothing when I Burn.

The incident in Decon was a virus, muated to a false _pon farr._

I have no memory of Lieutenant Reed; it was you I was trying to reach."

* * *

 **Sonnet Four:**

"You were trying to get to me?"

"Yes. although I would have accepted any compatible male."

"Even Phlox, T'Pol? Even though he has three wives."

"Even Phlox , and Denobulan marraiges are open."

"How come you never told me this before? I would have – "

"The virus would likely have caused your death."

"So – what happened? Are you OK? Did you –"

"Phlox found an antidote, I am well enough, and I did not."

"So – that means you really don't know what to expect?"

"I expect the mating-lust will be most potent."

"And if I decide I'm not up to all this?"

"Now that we are bound, if you refuse me, I'll die."

"Well, I've heard about women trapping men, but this one tops them all."

"I shall do my utmost to make you captivity a pleasurable entrapment."


	18. Natalie From Pensacola

**Sort-Of Spoiler Alerts for "Fusion"** **!**

 **This story contains very mild sexual themes...**

Trip Tucker has a date with Natalie from Pensacola that doesn't exactly go as planned...but maybe that's not such a bad thing?

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a one-sided story, where the gaps in information keep the reader guessing. I've got a series of messages from Trip to Natalie that give one version of a memorable evening...

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

"Nat? Trip here. I was just – oh, it's your message, not you.. Guess I'll see you soon, so there's no sense leaving a message here. Later!"'

* * *

"Hey, Nat? It's Trip again. Not sure if we got our wires crossed, but tonight's the night I'm meeting my friends in San Francisco, and I thought you were coming with me to the club. Hoping everything's all right, and maybe you just don't have a connection while you're in transit. See you soon."

* * *

"Natalie? Hope everything's all right. Public transportation isn't as reliable as Starfleet, I know – but I haven't heard of any delays between Pensacola and here, and you were scheduled to be at the station an hour ago…I've been waiting, but I'm going to miss my chance to see my friends if I stay here any longer, and this is the only night the whole gang can get together. I'll put a groundcar on standby to get you to the club when you show up, but I've gotta go now. Hope to see you soon. Oh, by the way, it's Trip – you know, that "space bum" from Panama City you do pretty much everything but sleep with?"

* * *

"Natalie, it's Trip. I know I've already called you three times, but I'm a little worried here. I've been at the club for a while – everyone's here already, and I feel like a fifth wheel. It would have been one thing if you hadn't all but insisted on meeting my friends tonight, but you did. I don't even care if you made other plans, but, if you did, I would have appreciated the common courtesy of you letting me know instead of keeping me hanging all night waiting to see if I matter enough for you to show up like you said you would. So, I guess what I'm saying is, call me back and let me know what's going on."

* * *

"Natalie, it's been an hour since I got here, and still not a peep from you. You know what? Forget the whole thing. I mean, the sex is good, and we've had some fun, and it's nice to have that so close to home, because I don't get leave all that often. But this is starting to feel like all I am to you is sex and a good time, and I don't think it's worth it to spend my time and money on someone who doesn't even respect me enough to keep the first commitment she's ever made to me. I'm not mad -not really – but I'm hoping to be shipping out for deep space in a year or two, and I guess I'd rather be alone than with someone who just wants to keep me on a string to play with when she feels like it.

"Of course, if something's really wrong, and you're out of touch because of an emergency – well, that's a whole different thing. Just wish to hell I knew which one it was….anyway, I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for that apparently isn't me. Take care of yourself."

* * *

"Natalie – what the hell? You keep me hanging without a word from you for hours, then, when I let you know I've finished waiting, you decide to finally show up, breezing in like you've got some claim to me and acting like you own me and can grope me anytime you want, anywhere you want? Getting mad and dumping your booze in my lap because I happened to be admiring a beautiful woman after you stood me up? That was your decision, not mine, and she was just lovely, the way she was enjoying the music in Fusion. I would have been all about you if you'd been on time, but you weren't. I didn't do anything wrong by flirting with a gorgeous woman in a cowl – we never even spoke, I don't know her name, and I'm probably never going to, either, because I saw her pointed ear when the cowl slipped, and when she ran into the Vulcan Consulate – computer, wipe that last part, everything after flirting. No, come to think of it, wipe the whole damn thing – I really don't even want to _know_ what her excuse is. Whatever it is, it's not enough to excuse that kind of behavior. So long, Natalie from Pensacola."


	19. An Addendum

**Spoiler Alerts for "The Andorian Incident"; tangential Spoilers for "The Seventh"** **!**

In addition to her official report on the incidents at the P'Jem monastery, T'Pol files a separate, unofficial, confidential report..

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a story told directly "to the camera" - one where the main character is speaking directly to an audience.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Ambassador Soval, as you've personally inquired regarding the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the illicit listening post at P'Jem, and _Enterprise_ 's involvement in these events, I am recording this addendum.

I have already submitted what is, to the best of my knowledge, an accurate and comprehensive account of the incident to the High Command, as you are likely by now well aware. I have included a facsimile of that document for your reference.

I apologize for any imperfections in this accunt, and it's my hope that you will understand; I haven't spoken in the formal mode of my native tongue since I left the Consulate, but such measures seem essential for a matter as significant as this. Moreover, if I speak in English, I may reveal more than I intend – and I serve upon this vessel at the discretion of both Starfleet and the High Command. I ask that you maintain the confidentiality of this report with the purpose of protecting my position among the crew of _Enterprise._ Although I am aware that you don't comprehend my reasons, I trust that you respect them.

The Vulcan High Command is unlikely to be pleased by the discovery of the listening post. The scope and advanced nature of the installation suggested strongly that this was an official operation of the Ministry of Security, although I'm certain this would be denied, were I foolish enough to advance the theory directly to my superiors.

I must therefore be very careful. If those who orchestrated the operation were to learn that I am aware of the High Command's involvement – but I have already spoken to that. I ask forgiveness; I have been unsettled since the mission to P'Jem was announced.

I'm certain you wish to know why _Enterprise_ traveled to P'Jem. It wasn't to perform surveillance, as has been publicly suggested by the First Minister of Security. Based on their behavior, and the considerable animosity between Captain Archer and Commander Shran, the leader of the Andorian contingent, the humans have had no prior encounters with the Andorians. However, as I have discussed with you previously, humans do have a marked proclivity for attempting to help any they perceive to be in need. It doesn't seem to matter whether the species being "helped" desires their assistance. They can't seem to prevent this tendency within them, regardless of the danger to themselves.

In this instance, had Captain Archer and Commander Tucker not intervened, we would have left P'Jem without incident. I regret that I may have unintentionally contributed in that regard. Commander Tucker was already alert to potential trouble because….because of a discussion I had with him the evening previous, wherein I inadvertently revealed that I was unsettled to be returning to P'Jem. He seems to have an inexplicable ability to know when I am troubled, and, as he is a human, to attempt to help. When I mentioned two very minor discrepancies in the behavior of the monks and the placement of their icons, Captain Archer and Commander Tucker initiated a covert search of the entry chamber, and discovered the Andorians I had already identified by scent. This resulted in a physical altercation, and, again regretfully, a failure on my part. When given the opportunity to utilize a weapon, I hesitated an instant too long, and we were taken captive along with the monks. I cannot explain my lapse, other than by referencing the agitation I experienced, which intensified throughout our stay at the retreat.

From there, the humans did as they seem instinctively driven to do. They attempted to assist, despite the monks' assurances that the Andorians would leave, as they had before, when they found nothing. However, the presence of the humans, accompanied by a Vulcan Science Officer – namely, myself – led Shran to believe _Enterprise_ had come to re-provision a listening post. He wouldn't be dissuaded from this belief, and I wasn't given an opportunity to speak on the humans' behalf.

What followed – the escalation of the humans' attempts to liberate not only themselves and me, but also the monks, led to the eventual confrontation that led into the reliquary, and eventually to the discovery of the listening post.

Once the installation was discovered, Captain Archer displayed another human tendency – a sense of moral judgment. He assessed the Vulcans of P'Jem to be wrong – and I don't disagree; to the extent that the monks understood and allowed the institution to be housed there, they were indeed complicit. Captain Archer ordered me to turn over my scans to the Andorians – but I will state to you that I would have done so in any event; it was the only just response to the circumstances.

I believe I have shared with you all the salient details of this mission. There is, of course, more that could be said, particularly to the sense of unease I experienced throughout our time in P'Jem, and the manner in which Commander Tucker offered comfort. However, I claim those matters as my own, and reserve my right to privacy in them.

I trust that you will honor the confidential nature of this communication. I will use our family sigils, and designate delivery to your personal chambers, as further assurance that these matters will remain private between us.

In the event you have further questions, you will find a full account of the relevant details, with none of the commentary included here, in the attached official report, as filed with the High Command.

Live long and Prosper, Soval, brother of T'Les

T'Pol, daughter of T'Les


	20. January 19,2155

**Spoiler Alerts for "Demons"; tangential Spoilers for "Impulse" and "Harbinger"** **!**

Three log entries regarding one truly unexpected event...

 **Mild sexual themes.**

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write an epistolary story: one told in letters, journal entries, etc. I used personal logs.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

 **Captain's Personal Log, January 19, 2155**

Phlox just dropped a bombshell on us – well, I guess I should say, on _me_ …because, to be honest, neither Trip nor T'Pol seemed nearly as blown away by the news as I am….

And _that_ says something I'm going to need to think about, because the bombshell was that the two of them have a baby somewhere –

A _baby_.

And, while they certainly looked surprised, there was that moment before T'Pol went out the door damned near at a run, and Trip lit into Phlox for blurting it out like that instead of telling the two of them privately, and then into me, Malcolm, and Phlox for staring at her, while ignoring the way _he_ stared at her like he had some _right_ to stare at her.

I caught the way he did it. There were questions there, and she was asking them right back – but neither one of them seemed to be asking the one I would have expected – "How the hell can we possibly have a baby, when we've never had sex?"

Which means that they _have._

Or does it? Am I just jumping to conclusions here? I mean, T'Pol is a Vulcan, and she made it more than clear that she wasn't going to entertain any feelings or interest she might have for _me_.

So, if she and Trip were together in a way that could have resulted in a _baby_ , what makes _him_ so different? Is it that he's not her commanding officer? She _is_ his – maybe I need to take some kind of disciplinary action.

But, given the baby's age – T'Pol couldn't have been Starfleet then. When was she pregnant? She's always been slender; maybe Vulcan women don't show when they carry? How long would a Vulcan/human hybrid gestate? And, if she had a baby, why would she look like that?

The problem is, I'm working on almost no information other than that there is in fact a baby that carries both of their DNA. I tried to get answers out of Trip, but, other than calling us out, he wouldn't give a single thing up – he just kept citing the privacy clause in T'Pol's commissioning. And _that_ might actually mean more than he realizes, because that's not something I've told anyone about.

Which means that, at some point, _T'Pol_ told him about it – and that _definitely_ implies a degree of intimacy. Which makes me wonder if that dream I had – the one Phlox said was because of those Orion women – was more than a dream, and Trip and T'Pol actually _were_ all over each other in my Ready Room…

I've got so many questions – and no answers, other than that my second and third in command have a _child_ together, and, right now, the two of them aren't even _close_ to explaining how the _hell_ that happened.

* * *

 **Personal log, January 19, 2155**

I've got to go talk to T'Pol, but there's one thing stopping me.

What the hell am I going to say to her? How do I ask her how we can possibly have a baby, when I know perfectly well how we could have one. It's been a while, but a man doesn't ever forget sex that's as consuming and passionate as hers is.

And the timing is right, too, damn it.

But that look on her face, the way she bolted - and what I can almost feel through this bond of ours…I just wish I could understand what all this means.

I don't know how she could possibly have fit a baby in that body of hers, and I don't know why she wouldn't just have told me she was pregnant, if she was – especially after I thought she was, when she told me about her and trellium-D –

Unless she found out after she decided to marry Koss, and she couldn't keep a half-human child in that parentally-sanctioned and _negotiated_ union. Did she have the embryo removed, and give it away – all without saying a word about it to me?

Would she do that? Even for her mother?

Good lord, was she pregnant during that insanity after her wedding? What would that much trellium-D do to a half-human, half-Vulcan baby?

I've got to find out if the baby is all right. I've got to ask T'Pol what the hell happened.

More importantly – I've got to ask her what comes next. We've got a son or a daughter out there – why the hell didn't Phlox blurt that little detail out while he was making our secrets a matter of public knowledge? Which is what he was doing, with Malcolm in the room. He's the biggest gossip on the ship.

But whichever it is – somehow, someone else has _our_ baby. I can feel that T'Pol's scared about that, not that she'd ever admit it out loud. Maybe that's not what she intended when she did – whatever it was she did, that means our baby isn't with us.

Am I a fool to want this baby? To think that, somehow, she and I can find a way to raise him or her together? I mean, we've been getting closer together again, and maybe, finally, with this bond, and my coming back to _Enterprise,_ and us choosing each other – maybe for good this time – maybe we could be a real family….?

But that can't happen if I don't talk to her. I've already waited too long, and now I've got that feeling that says she's just injected trellium, which is gonna make her feel all those things she's feeling even more…and the biggest one, right now, is loneliness.

I'm acting like an ass. Whatever happened, whatever's _going_ to happen, I need to go be with her now, because of all the times I _wasn't_ with her when she needed me.

Somehow, we'll figure this out, together.

* * *

 **Personal Meditation Log, January 19, 2155**

I am a mother, and Trip is a father.

It's inexplicable. No amount of meditation will find an explanation that is logical.

I've never been pregnant. I am certain of that.

And yet –

I could have become pregnant, and, if I had, Trip would have been my child's father –

As he is my child's father. As an alternate version of him was Lorian's father.

And now that the reality of the child has entered my life – I can feel it.

There is a child.

It is our child.

And I want that child.

I want to provide it a home, and raise it with Trip, as a family. I can't explain these certainties and desires logically, but the need to bring my child – our child – to me is stronger than the need to mate when the false Burning came to me. It is stronger by far than the need for trellium – but trellium does assist me in feeling the child, knowing that it is as content as it can be, but that it is also lonely, its mind hungry for a contact it has been denied.

I will find this child, and bring it –

Where?

Here, to _Enterprise?_

That would be my first choice, because a child half-human and half-Vulcan might find no place where it so unquestioningly belonged. But would it be allowed? Would Trip choose to assist in raising a child? Could I do so, if he didn't?

Perhaps, I will resign, and go to Vulcan.

Perhaps, I will be unable to find the child at all. And then, I must live with this new hollow ache only the infant can fill.

Perhaps, Trip won't believe that I wasn't hiding a baby from him in some way. He thinks so, now – though, given my physical build, he is perplexed as to how I was able to do so. More, he suspects that I may have chosen to have his child's embryo removed in order to marry Koss. Does he still truly doubt the depth of my esteem and affection for him?

He is my bondmate. He is my t'hy'la.

There is no other whose child I would desire to carry.

I have injected trellium – a foolish impulse.

And Trip is coming.


	21. This Just In

**Spoiler Alerts for "Broken Bow"** **!**

What happens when a not-so-professional newscaster gets wind of a juicy bit of Starfleet intel?

Something like this story, maybe...

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a story in the form of a news report.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

This just in….

Starfleet hasn't yet confirmed, but rumors are swirling that _Enterprise_ , humanity's first Warp 5 capable vessel – what they're calling a "starship" – will be postponing its final series of pre-launch tests, slated to run another three weeks.

For once, it's not the Vulcans stalling things.

Or is it?

As rumor has it, the Vulcans were contacted by an extra-terrestrial race known as Klingots, because, somehow, a member of that species ended up in a corn field in Broken Bow, Oklahoma. It's unclear what the Klingot was doing there, but we do have confirmed reports of a silo explosion in the area.

The Vulcans' involvement in this matter is unclear, but it seems that _Enterprise_ will be taking the Klingot – wait, I've just been sent a correction; the name of the species in question is Klingon, not Klingot, as previously reported – _Enterprise_ will be delivering this Klingon back to his homeworld, - I'm sorry, but I really can't pronounce the name of that planet.

* * *

This just in…

The rumor that _Enterprise_ will be suspending its final pre-launch testing, and returning an injured Klingon back to KwoNose, his planet of origin. While we don't know much about this planet, the Klingon species, whether _Enterprise_ will have a full crew complement, or whether it will complete its testing _en route_ , there is one additional bit of information we have uncovered.

There will be a _Vulcan_ aboard a human starship.

That's right, folks.

 _Enterprise's_ Science Station will be crewed by Sub-Commander TaPaul. We don't know much about her, other than that she answers the Vulcan High Command, not Starfleet, and that she had spent the last year at the Vulcan Consulate, where she was a junior _attache_ to Ambassador Soval.

Word is she'll be serving as a chaperone of sorts –one more way the Vulcans are letting us humans know they don't trust us to go out on our own without a babysitter. They're apparently trading some star maps and a database for her – so they don't even think we're smart enough to find our own way without their directions.

What's in store for the brave crew of _Enterprise_? When will they be back, and ready to fly without the Vulcan nanny?

Stay tuned, viewers – we'll have full up to the nanosecond coverage of the launch, and regular updates on the status of _Enterprise_ and her noble mission.


	22. Lingering Sweetness

**Spoiler Alerts for "Extinction"** **!**

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a story in which a character wakes up somewhere unfamiliar...

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Swinging.

That's the first sensation you become aware of.

Swinging –

And then pain.

You are swinging from wrists and ankles. You've been tied with what smells like _krenya_ vine, and the friction of your body's motion is causing the pain.

 _Krenya_ vine?

You know of nothing with that name. Certainly not on your homeworld. Nor any other you can recall. And yet, you are certain that this is the scent of _krenya_ vine fibers, as the outer bark is rubbed raw.

It doesn't account for the swinging -or the strange sensations within your body and your mind. Both seem strange, almost as though – as though you've just awoken into them, although there is no logic to this sensation. Your mind is your own….and it is not. Your body is likewise both known and strange to you.

There is something here that you almost remember. If it were not for the swinging….perhaps you would be more able to form hypotheses….

You tense against the vines – but you have been well bound, and all you accomplish is to increase the force of your swinging.

And now there is a strange chattering – except, this, too, is not quite strange. Almost, it sounds like a language you might understand, if you were wholly in command of body and mind –

Is this your language?

What _is_ your language?

Where are you, and where do you belong?

You will find no answers simply swinging. You must gather more information.

You have lost the freedom of movement, and, with your body not wholly your own, you might not move as you wish, even if you weren't bound. But your eyes open slightly when you exert effort in that direction. There is too much light; the eyelid sweeps across, and your eyes close again before the adjustment is complete.

You focus on your other senses. Scent of others – yes, they are the ones making the chattering language you can't quite understand, or discount as simply noise.

Taste… there is a lingering sweetness upon your tongue -are the sugars responsible for the sensations of being not quite who you were?

Perhaps, but you think not. You can't explain it logically, even to yourself, but you have a sense that the taste is perhaps the only thing that is concrete and as it was when you fell asleep – as whomever _you_ were when you went to sleep.

Peaches.

Yes. That is it.

You are tasting peaches. They were given to you as a gift by…you've lost the name of the man, but you see his face in your mind, and remember his scent and his voice. He brought you the peaches….wherever you were before you were in this place that smells of jungle. You accepted but were planning to set them aside. But the man insisted that you try, "just one bite."

And so you indulged him. There was something of pleasure in indulging him, and something that indulged you, as well – though you have never admitted it to him, or even to yourself, until now. This man – he adds something to your life that you hadn't known you wanted, or needed, until you met him. Now, he feels as though he is some part of you –

The taste of the peaches can be an anchor, perhaps.

You allow all else to fade away: the chattering, the pain, the swinging, the strangeness of self and body…

You focus on the taste of peaches …. the taste of peaches, and the blue-eyed human with the easy smile now made into something else by sorrow and an anger he won't yet admit to, but which you think perhaps you are able to soothe, in some manner, when you engage in neuropressure –

Neuropressure.

Blue eyes. A smile tarnished by grief.

The taste of peaches.

Trip. That was the name of the man… the man who spoke to places in your soul that were illogical and empty, as though they'd only been waiting for his presence.

Trip. He'd brought you peaches, as an apology, but more. You could feel that. He wanted to surprise you and delight you. He won't accept that a Vulcan can't be delighted.

You've chosen to allow him to see just enough of your pleasure in him that he continues trying. He is an engineer – and he deeply enjoys a challenge. You therefore challenge him, and enjoy that kinship, for you, too prefer to be challenged in your living.

It is a way to help him deal with the emotions he can't acknowledge – something else you understand well, as a Vulcan. And to help yourself, perhaps – particularly in moments like this, when you have need of an anchor.

He is Trip.

You are T'Pol.

And you are bound at wrists and ankles, swinging from the limb upon which your former crewmates – Ensign Sato, Lieutenant Reed, and Captain Archer – have bound you. It is they who are chittering. They've changed…far more than you have.

They need you.

You must find yourself, hold to yourself, and help them to find themselves again.

You hold to the lingering sweetness of peaches, and struggle toward true awareness.


	23. Askew

**Spoiler Alerts for "Azati Prime";"Harbinger"; and "Hatchery"** **!**

Trip is on a personal mission...but he doesn't quite know what it is, or how to do it. All he knows is that he has to do something to prevent a disaster of an intimate nature.

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a story in which a character notices a small detail others would have missed.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

Trip looked around the room….and tried not to admit to himself that he didn't really have a clue what he was looking for. He was still reeling from that photonic torpedo she'd dropped on them, the one that damned near shattered him right on the spot.

She was going in after Jon, on some flimsy excuse that she might be able to talk to the Xindi because she wasn't human. And she acted as though there was some logic in all of that. She seemed so damned calm on the outside, but Trip could almost _feel_ the emotions seething inside her.

She wasn't anywhere close to coming at this rationally, and he knew it, whether she did or not.

So, while she was up there on the Bridge finalizing her suicide plan, he'd let himself in with the security code she'd given him.

He still had no clue what exactly he was hoping to find….something that would make her stay? Something that would give him reason enough to go to Phlox? Get her relieved of command? Something to show her how very much he cared about her? How empty life would be without her here?

There was her bed, where he'd woken up this morning, with one hot Vulcan woman wrapped around him and doing a better job than a blanket at keeping him warm….and heating him up in other ways, too. They'd come damned near being late for duty, because she just couldn't seem to get enough of him since that incident at the Xindi hatchery, when Jon had exiled her here.

She hadn't really been herself then, either….but was it the being sure there was something wrong with Jon that might endanger the ship and the mission – or was it something else, something that was coming to a head now?

He could feel it. She was taut beyond her tensile strength. Structurally, she was exceeding her safe limits, and closing in on a critical threshold.

And if he let her cross it, if he let her go out there and try to establish a diplomatic relationship with a race who wanted nothing else than to kill every human being in the galaxy, she was going to get herself killed just like Jon had.

And he just couldn't let her do it.

He had to find something to stop her.

Her book was by the bed, but he couldn't read Vulcan, so that didn't do him any good. He turned to the desk – everything seemed in order here, too. There had to be something….

There!

One of her candleholders was askew. Only by a centimeter or two, but this was T'Pol. She was more precise than anyone else Trip knew; she wouldn't have left it like that if everything was all right –

The door slipped open, and Trip stood there, not knowing what to do or what to say –

There wasn't any need to say anything, as it turned out. She launched herself across the few feet between them, wrapping herself around him, already at his zipper, and driving them toward the bed.

Trip let her have her way with him…the light in her eyes wasn't exactly coming from her logical side, and maybe he could use this to keep her here – beg for her to stay. Maybe she'd be more rational when it was all over. Or, at least, he'd have this to remember her by –

He didn't get the chance he was hoping for. She had a way of not talking when she was aroused past a certain point. He didn't know if that was true for all Vulcans, but it certainly was for T'Pol. He wasn't even sure she understood him when he talked to her.

So he gave in to the inevitability of her need, hoping she'd fix her teeth into his shoulder, because those were times he could hold her and whisper into her ear, and she seemed to want nothing more than to please him, and be with him.

Not this time, though. Once the "mating" was over, it was only a matter of minutes before she said, "I must prepare to go. You will find detailed notes in the Ready Room, along with the codes for eyes-only files."

He had to try, even though her mind seemed set, and she was more stubborn the a stable full of mules. There was still that candleholder…"T'Pol – don't do this –"

"I'm in command, Trip. You can't order me to desist." She pulled back from his embrace, and he let her go, watching her as she gathered up the clothing they'd just peeled out of.

"I'm not trying to order you. I'm _asking_ you not to do it. It's like inviting them to kill you."

She sorted through the clothing. She was almost her typical model of efficiency, except that her hands were trembling slightly. She offered him the tidy little pile of his things. "If they discover _Enterprise,_ they're just as likely to kill everyone aboard."

Damn her logic. "I can't argue with that." He wanted to add that at least they'd die together, but that seemed way too corny, even to him, and there was no way in hell she was going to go for it. "But you have to know that I _want_ to – maybe even more, after this."

She hadn't put her clothes on yet, or told him to get dressed. Maybe that meant something, because she reached out two fingers to his face. "I wish you to know that this – what we have shared here, between us – has great value to me."

He could make love with her, but he couldn't make her not be Vulcan. Honestly, he wouldn't want to. He mirrored her gesture, instead, and looked straight into her hazel eyes. "Me, too. T'Pol – please don't go. If we might all die anyway – "

"I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that happening." She let her touch linger another second or two, then dropped her fingers.

"You're going to get yourself killed. And it won't mean a thing to the Xindi." She tensed just slightly; Trip let his fingers fall away, trying not to get desperate enough to make a fool of himself.

"We don't know that, Trip." She slipped into her panties and the bottom half of her form-fitting, insulated outfit. "There is a Vulcan philosophy: the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. If there is a chance – any chance – to save this crew, I must take it, no matter the risk to myself."

"You know, I don't think I like Vulcan philosophy very much. But, if you're going – can I at least walk you to the launch bay?"

"Only if you are dressed in the next two minutes." But she'd softened up, just a little bit. And her candleholder was still out of place, suggesting maybe she didn't have things quite as buttoned down as she wanted everyone to think. Like the way she'd just tackled him.

Maybe he could still convince her.


	24. Addicted to the Blue

**Spoiler Alerts for "Damage" and "Harbinger"!**

When self disappears into addiction...

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a story in which something or someone disappears.

 **As always, I profit nothing - I just love them.**

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

You are disappearing.

You know it, but you don't know what to do about it. Perhaps, if you'd understood the dangers sooner, before it was too late – but it's illogical to posit imaginary circumstances that can't happen now. You didn't understand, or you chose not to, and now it is too late.

You've come to understand – but you're disappearing, and there is no time to find yourself.

Worse, everyone around you believes you are still as you've been, still the emotionless and controlled Vulcan in their midst, who could be counted upon, as Captain Archer had been heard to say when he was unaware you could hear, "to suck the air out of any room."

No. Not everyone.

Trip can see that you're different. It's in his eyes, of late, when he watches you. When you couple, there's something that tries to decipher the change. You can feel him studying you, the way he studies engineering puzzles. Are you simply another piece of machinery to him, when, to you, there is nothing else that seems as real as him?

But that, too, is inaccurate.

You're holding something that is at least as real as he is. A blue-veined grey rock. It is heavy and cool in your hand.

Your trembling hand.

You'd nearly despaired of reaching it. You'd been hungry – for Trip, and for the trellium – D.

They have become the two poles of your existence, and you, trapped between them, are disappearing at an alarming rate.

You are addicted. To the blue veins in this grey rock.

To the human man with the blue eyes.

Perhaps you are nothing but your addictions.

For certain, you aren't as you've been, and not as any of them, even Trip, think you to be.

You are disappearing, and the only answers you can find lie in the blue-veined rock and the blue-eyed man.

And both have the power to consume you.


	25. The Hard Sell

**Spoiler Alerts for "Broken Bow"!**

Trip wants to make a sale...but will T'Pol buy.

The Story A Day prompt for today was to write a story in which someone wants to sell something...

 **Critiques and comments always gratefully accepted - they make me a better writer.**

* * *

She's sitting all by herself with what looks like a bowl of watery soup mostly untouched –at her elbow, and her nose all but buried in a PADD. She doesn't look remotely like she wants company.

But then, I've been making it my habit to do what she doesn't want, and she hasn't told me to get lost yet, so I try to pretend I'm not half-scared of her, and the other half terrified of what she'll say when I say what I still can only half believe I'm _about_ to say.

That's a lot of halves, and I know I'm stalling. I bite the bullet.

"Hi there, Sub-Commander."

"Commander Tucker." She doesn't look up from the PADD, but she's not using that clipped tone that suggests she'd rather be chewed up by fire ants than be in my presence one second longer than she needs to.

Maybe that's something. Maybe it means I've got a shot in hell of making this sale. The next few seconds will tell me a lot. I go for broke.

"Mind if I join you?"

Humans are often imprecise in their phrasing. I attempt to decipher Commander Tucker's meaning – would a human suggest mating in such a public place, and with such lack of attention to the intimacy of such acts?

I inhale fully, but without giving evidence that I'm testing his scent. He is agitated, but not aroused, so the most obvious meaning is unlikely to be what he intended.

"Well, never mind –" He begins to turn away; I've taken too long to respond. Humans seem to always be moving, seeking greater momentum.

"You may – join me, Commander." I'm still uncertain as to what I've accepted, but he assumes his former position and smiles.

"Great! I'm going to grab a bite – you want anything? Doesn't look like you care for…whatever _that_ is."

"It is _plomik_ broth, and it's adequate. However, my digestive tract has been somewhat unsettled since I arrived on _Enterprise."_

"I can get you tea. That might help settle things down enough so you can enjoy your – plomeek broth." He gestures in the direction of the drink dispenser, and his scent shifts subtly.

"If you wish, Commander." I don't know what he intends, but instinct directs me to accept his offer.

"Don't go anywhere."

I'm learning something of the way this species communicates; I don't comment on the illogic of the statement. "I will remain here, Commander Tucker."

I'd love to get past all her oh-so-formal "Commander Tuckers" – but one step at a time. We're on our way home; if I don't get her on my hooks now, I'm not going to get a chance to loosen her up enough to call me Trip, shake my hand – and maybe let me find out whether all those dreams I've had about her are just wishful thinking, or if there's even the whisper of a chance of something more.

What she's given me so far isn't much, but it's maybe more than I deserve, with the way I yelled at her in Engineering and on the Bridge. I was way out of line, and we both know it, and yet, she hasn't said another word about it.

I decide to take that as a good sign. I tell the dispenser, "Vulcan tea, hot." I'd love to slip her some ginger for her upset stomach, because that can't be making this mission any easier for her, but I don't know whether it affects Vulcans the same way it does humans, and it doesn't seem fair to use her as a guinea pig at a time like this.

I bring her the tea – she's already back to reading the PADD, and I decide I can make my case better if I'm not constantly begging for her attention. I just set it down next to the mostly uneaten broth, then go back to grab a ham sandwich and some milk for myself before taking the seat opposite hers.

And then we just sit there. We might as well be on two separate planets. I almost wish I had thought to bring a PADD of my own. But, then again, maybe she would never look up, and I'd never get the chance to do what I really want to do – sell her on the idea of staying with _Enterprise._

I need to get on with this, before she gets up and leaves, back to the impenetrable fortress of her room.

"Reading anything interesting?" I ask, when staring at my sandwich gets old, and my milk has nothing to say.

"I left duties behind at the Consulate. I will be expected to resume them, upon my return. I have been using my off-duty hours to attend to what I'm able."

Now my stomach sinks. Does she want to go back to her tidy little life at the Consulate, while I get ready to ship off for I don't even know how many years? Or maybe she doesn't want to go back at all, but just doesn't see any other option. Might be best if I don't assume; treat this just as any other conversation for a while, until I find my opening…and then I need to really sell it.

"That's very efficient of you. You must be eager to get back."

"My feelings on my return are of little importance. It's my assignment."

I don't tell Commander Tucker that I have no wish to return to Earth, to go back to the Consulate, where I could go among his people only when authorized, or when I could manage a covert excursion.

I want to remain here, on _Enterprise_ , where he is.

However, I have no logical reason for this desire, and therefore, no means by which to discuss it. Moreover, Captain Archer is clearly biased against my species, and extends that bias to me, personally. He resents my assignment here and will be quite pleased when it ends.

"Well, it's not right now. Right now, your assignment is right here. And we have this strange idea that people need some actual time off. To eat. Rest. Pursue a hobby, or have a conversation with a crewmate."

"Vulcans don't require as much rest as humans do. We also find performing our duties satisfactorily to be pleasing. And I am currently conversing with a crewmate."

"Hmmm…it's not much of a conversation. Is there anything you enjoy doing beyond your duty and reminding humans how much better than us you are at…well, everything?"

She finally looked right up at me, and, in this dim light, her hazel eyes seemed huge and shining, reminding me of the first time I saw her. "It's not my intention to imply that my people are superior to yours, Commander. I was simply stating a difference in our relative species' needs for rest. Also, I enjoy the human music form known as jazz, and learning more of your world and its people."

Bingo! I stick my tongue in my cheek to keep myself from saying it aloud. But inside, I'm just about dancing. She's handed me a perfect opening.

"Ever considered that you might learn more about us here than working for old Soval?"

"Ambassador Soval isn't old, Commander." Leave it to her to hand me my lines like a gift, and then get hung up on a tiny little detail that doesn't mean a thing. If it wasn't so much fun matching wits with her, I might hate the way she tangled up my mind. But right now, I need to keep to the point.

"Be that as it may, Sub-commander, you didn't answer my question."

"Yes."

"Yes?" The woman was mystifying – and intriguing.

"Yes, Commander. It has occurred to me that I might learn more about humans aboard _Enterprise_ than at the Vulcan Consulate. However, that doesn't seem relevant, as I will soon be returning to that duty."

Here we go…time to go all in, and really sell it – if it was possible to sell anything to a beautiful woman who happened to be a Vulcan.

"What if you didn't go back? Would they let you stay, if you asked?"

"I'm not a prisoner. However, I did accept an assignment that was intended to last a specific amount of time. It may not be possible to shift that assignment – or other obligations." I think I see something – some tiny muscles shifting around her eyes – that suggests that those "other obligations" of hers might not be ones she wants to honor.

"Well…is there any harm in asking?"

"Jonathan Archer doesn't want me aboard." Funny, but she almost sounded sad about it, in a Vulcan kind of way.

"Maybe not, on a personal level…but, T'Pol, I've known him a lot longer than you have. This isn't just a crew to him; it's a family."

"And he wants me in this family?"

"You _earned_ your right to be in it. It's more than likely that none of us would have survived this mission without your help. And for sure we never would have found Klaang if you hadn't been here."

"I'm uncertain of that. From what I have observed, humans are most resourceful, and quite determined."

I can't believe that she's still listening, and talking with me about this. No lectures, no turning her back on me and my lowly human handshake. "I can't argue with that. But we were very much out of our element out here, and that's got to be as obvious to him as it is to me. And it's not like we're going to learn everything we need to, in the next three weeks."

"Captain Archer has mentioned nothing to me."

"Maybe not – but I'm willing to bet he will." My mom used to tell me I could sell anything to anybody with my charm and my grin. Not sure she meant Vulcans, though…but still. I give her the Tucker dimples and my baby blues. "What do you say, T'Pol? When he asks you, can you wrap up those obligations of yours? Would you want to?"

Level hazel eyes meet mine, and her head tips just a bit. This is the moment; I hold my breath. "I will consider it, Mr. Tucker."

I don't say anything out loud, but in my head, I'm dancing around like a fool, singing, "She bought it! She bought it!" – until I realize I still have to talk Jon into it.

But if I can sell this idea to her, Jon ought to be a breeze.


End file.
